


warm water

by everbloom



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Disbandment, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everbloom/pseuds/everbloom
Summary: Johnny is as heartbreakingly beautiful as Mark had left him, familiar yet so different. He's not quite the Johnny he used to know. He's not quite Johnny from NCT. He's not quite Mark's Johnny.Then again, Johnny was never really his.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 72
Kudos: 447





	1. waiting game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a post-disbandment fic, if you don't like the idea of a group disbanding then I urge you not to read this. 
> 
> Disclaimer: this fic turned out more introspective than I had anticipated, I don't claim to know anything about idol life for obvious reasons. It's all fiction and I just wanted to have fun with some ideas. We only know what we're presented, take this fic with a grain of salt.
> 
> As per usual, this has been proofread to the best of my abilities.
> 
>  **Edit (please read!):** I wrote this as a 127-centric fic because it revolves around johnmark, you know, the only subunit they share. I decided to leave out the other subunits to keep the plot simple, especially in regards to contracts, but whatever happens to the non-127 members is up to your imagination. Please don't misinterpret this as me being a 127zen or something, I wholly support the entire group, this choice was just for simplicity's sake. Thank you.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Taeyong asks, eyeing him carefully. "I can tell them you're busy and take the project myself."

"Hyung, I'm twenty-seven. I can make decisions by myself," Mark reassures, purposefully hiding his expression from Taeyong behind a cup of coffee.

With over a decade of friendship and working together, Taeyong knows how to read him. Mark never picked up that skill to the same proficiency as him, but he's learned when to avert attention away from his face.

Over the lip of the cup, he notices that Taeyong is still staring back at him, expression unchanged. He sighs, setting the cup down back onto its saucer, and steels his expression with a practiced smile that only ever fools the cameras. Taeyong doesn't seem convinced, he never is.

"I'll do it."

"If you ever change your mind…" Taeyong offers, brows pinched in that worried expression Mark has unfortunately been a recipient of a thousand times. The half-eaten sandwich in front of him lays forgotten, Mark wants to urge him to eat, to drop the subject so they can enjoy the rest of their lunch hour. This is supposed to be their time of solace, reserved for conversations about the mundane things in their lives over coffee and lunch. Work talk stays out of their lunch dates.

Mark plucks a halved cherry tomato out of Taeyong's salad, popping it in his mouth and chews through a thought. Taeyong doesn't waver, drumming his fingers against the wooden table as if counting the seconds until Mark gives in.

Mark doesn't give in.

"I appreciate it, hyung, but I think I need to do this," he glances out the window of the nondescript café they frequent every Friday afternoon.

Outside, summer rain fills the streets of Seoul. The city moves forward, he should too.

He's in the middle of packing for SMTown in Tokyo when Yuta calls him.

" _I miss your face,_ " is the first thing Yuta says to him instead of the typical hello. It's become a common way they greet each other. Formality never quite settled between them like it had between him and some of the other members. It's not ideal but it can't be helped, Mark hates the distance that has grown between him and some of the other guys. Desperately, he hangs onto the relationships he still has.

"Just my face?" he laughs as Yuta makes a distressed noise on the other end of the line.

He puts his phone on speaker and sets it on top of the drawer in order to scavenge through one of his drawers for toiletries.

"You're being dramatic, we'll be seeing each other in a few days," Mark reminds, shoving a few products into a pouch.

" _Doesn't mean I can't miss you! All of you, not just your face,_ " Yuta exclaims. There's a subtle hum of a radio in the background, a voice announcing the change in hour. It's late in Japan, and based on the regular texts he receives from Yuta, he's had a busy schedule this week. He must be on his way home right now.

"If you want to see my face so badly, go stare at my Instagram," Mark playfully retorts.

" _That's not the same, you and I both know management handles that account,_ " Yuta petulantly whines. _"I wish we could like FaceTime or something."_

"I'm _not_ getting a new phone, what am I? Made out of money?" Mark drops the pouch into the suitcase.

" _You have like a hundred writing credits, didn't you also say you're planning on getting a new phone soon anyway?_ " Royalties make bank. If he was honest, he doesn't pay too much attention to how much money he really makes from his music. It's a luxury not many people can afford, and he considers himself lucky, but that doesn't mean he likes blowing his money on things he doesn't need.

"I don't have a hundred writing credits," Mark corrects. He pulls out an old sleepshirt, one he had snatched from Jungwoo a few years back. It's oversized, threadbare and completely dwarfs him but it's comfortable. Jungwoo thought it looked too cute on him to even ask for it back and he's kept it ever since. He neatly folds it into an empty packing cube along with a pair of shorts.

"I will soon."

" _Are you sure you should be telling me this,_ " Yuta says after a moment.

NDAs exist for a reason. They're no longer groupmates, he has to remind himself, unannounced projects are to be kept to himself and those involved. Yuta is longer involved in his life that way. They're just friends now, their paths have only crossed professionally once over the years, and that was only because Yuta actively sought it out himself.

Mark doesn't know when the next opportunity will arise, sometimes he doesn't think it ever will. Yuta flits between Japan and Korea often, and unfortunately for Mark, he rarely gets a chance to see him when he's in town. They didn't even get to see each other when they did work together — a song Mark had composed for Yuta and Chanmina — so his upcoming trip to Japan makes him all the more excited even if all they have time for is lunch.

"Right," Mark murmurs. "So, uh, what did you have in mind for lunch, hyung?"

Three days of concerts has his muscles aching, but he rides the concert high through the week. It's been awhile since he performed so strenuously, but his solo stage and the one stage he shared with Taeyong are nothing compared to the months of touring they used to do.

The morning after the last concert, he meets Yuta who looks more than heartbroken that Taeyong isn't able to join them. Mark is a little sad too, but at least he'll be seeing Taeyong later this week.

He has a few meetings lined up when he gets back to Korea, unlike Taeyong who has a completely packed schedule. Mark finds himself exceptionally lucky to even have the free time to hang out with Yuta. He has a flight to catch later tonight, but he'll gladly take the brief window of freedom he has for lunch and a little shopping.

Yuta seems to share the same sentiment, he's more than happy that he gets to see at least one old friend today.

"Mark!" Yuta excitedly calls, barreling towards him the second he steps out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby. Yuta wraps him in a tight embrace with giggly laughter.

Japanese summers are disgustingly hot, humid, and sticky, and despite the discomfort, Mark lets Yuta hug him, relishing in the familiarity Yuta doesn't fail to bring.

"Hello to you too, hyung," Mark chuckles, tucking his chin on Yuta's shoulder, and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. He gives an apt pat to Yuta's bottom with his hands, laughing as Yuta makes a protesting noise. Yuta doesn't pull away though, the embrace lingers, and Yuta's cologne sends a spark of nostalgia through Mark.

"How are you?" Yuta asks, mournfully pulling away. He cups Mark's cheeks, tsking when he gets a good look at the dark circles laying prominent below Mark's eyes, "Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine, hyung. You know how it is after a set of concerts," Mark giggles, still a little strung out. Sleep had been evasive last night, all the adrenaline from the concert and the excitement of getting to see Yuta only caused him to roll around in bed for several hours.

Yuta makes a noise of acknowledgement, "That's fair, but promise me you'll get some good sleep tonight, m'kay?"

"I'll try, no promises though."

"Good! It's such a shame Yongie isn't able to join us," Yuta says as they pass through the revolving doors.

"You saw him yesterday."

"Yeah but it'd be nice to see him more, you know, actually talk without any staff ushering you guys around."

"Yeah," Mark is urged into Yuta's manager's car.

He greets Yuta's manager with the little Japanese he's retained over the years as he slides into the back. Yuta's manager greets him back politely with some sort of recognition glinting in his eyes. They've never met before, but knowing Yuta, he's probably talked his manager's ears off about him. It's a miracle his manager doesn't stare at him with any amount of disdain or annoyance.

They talk about last night's concert on the way to the okonomiyaki restaurant Mark said he wanted to try. In the midst of his busy schedule, Yuta managed to catch yesterday's concert, even dropping by backstage for a few quick hello's in Mark and Taeyong's shared dressing room. Yuta has nothing but praise to offer, though it must be strange to see his former peers performing together without him.

Mark blushes under the compliments, laughing off Yuta's praise in hopes that Yuta will let up. He'll only miss those words more when he isn't around.

They're dropped off at a street corner by the restaurant. The traffic is awful, too congested where they're headed, so after a quick exchange between Yuta and his manager, they decide that they're going to walk the rest of the way.

"Alright, I think the restaurant's this way," Yuta links his arm with his, pulling up the restaurant's address on his phone.

Halfway down the block, Yuta stops in his tracks, yanking Mark backwards with where their arms are still linked.

Mark stumbles backwards, gasping, "Hyung?"

"Is that—" Yuta gapes, attention turned towards the Shu Uemura store next to them.

Mark looks too. At first he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, but a familiar face soon flashes on the giant OLED screen in the window. Deep brown smokey eyeshadow dusted on a familiar set of honey brown eyes, and lips Mark had once become acquainted with in the past, are adorned in bright red.

"Johnny," Mark answers brokenly. An answer that wasn't warranted but he still finds himself murmuring his name out of habit.

He stares at the screen, bewildered. A vague memory of their time as Nature Republic ambassadors emerges, and thinking back, it had been a surreal experience even now. Getting the opportunity to endorse skincare and makeup was a wild thought, on top of that, being ambassadors following their seniors' steps felt like a ridiculous thing to have to live up to.

But _now_ , Johnny is the face of Shu fucking Uemura, posing with 3,300 yen lipsticks, looking effortlessly gorgeous while doing so.

Surreal. This is absolutely surreal. As anatomically impossible as it may be, he thinks his heart has leapt into his throat. He sees Johnny's face on ads and billboards and just about everywhere in Korea, but something about seeing it in Japan seems a little more haunting. It's as if no matter where Mark goes, Johnny is bound to follow him one way or another.

"Would you look at that, he really is everywhere, huh," Yuta stares openly, marvelling at the display.

"Yeah," _unfortunately_ , Mark wants to say. Instead, he hastily tugs at Yuta's hand, "Hyung, let's go, I'm starving."

Yuta laughs, trailing slowly behind Mark as he snaps a quick photo of the storefront with his phone. He pulls up their still active group chat, grinning as he composes a new message, oblivious to Mark's distress.

Mark later sees the photo while they're waiting for their food.

 **yuta** [11:32 am]  
[1 image attachment]  
look who we ran into!

Yuta is quick, capturing part of Mark's face in the shot, and in it Mark notices that he looks less distraught than he had felt. He wonders if any of the guys are able to see right through him, he wouldn't be surprised if they did.

The first person to reply had been Jungwoo who only expressed how much he missed everyone. Followed by Taeil asking them why they were together, then Taeyong chimed in with the answer. The chat soon erupts with activity and Mark finds that he has to mute it if he wants to spend his quality time with Yuta in peace.

For the rest of the day, he doesn't check the group chat at all.

It's a short reprieve but Mark will gladly bask in it between his flight from Japan to Korea, phone kept on airplane mode until he's back home. It's a peace he never knew he needed until it's past midnight when he arrives back at his Seoul apartment and sees Johnny's message in the chat. There's ninety-two other messages, but it still stands out:

 **johnny** [12:03 pm]  
woahhh who's that handsome guy

It takes more than a glass of Cabernet for Mark to convince himself that Johnny is talking about himself.

"It's probably best if you don't drink this right now," Taeyong coaxes the cup of coffee out of Mark's fidgeting hands and sets it on the table out of Mark's reach. In place, Taeyong takes his hand in his, squeezing it.

"How'd you even get into drinking coffee," Taeyong muses. "You used to rarely ever drink it."

Mark laughs, nerves bubbling with it. He's too sleep deprived without it, fuelled only by the anxiety buzzing through him. They've been waiting in one of the meeting rooms for what feels like forever.

Taeyong is right, he always knows what's good, and coffee isn't going to do him any good with the rate his heart is palpitating. He hasn't felt this way in a really long time, he shouldn't even feel this way considering who he's meeting and how informal this thing really is. Regardless, he doesn't know how to handle this so he's glad Taeyong is here with him, even if he didn't need to be.

His nerves are fluttering sporadically, nausea accumulating with each passing moment they're waiting idly. Maybe some fresh air would do him some good. Actually, fresh air sounds like a fantastic idea. He definitely is _not_ looking for an excuse to run away because he's an adult and he'll handle this in an adult way. But Taeyong would understand if he bailed, right? He said he'll take over if Mark just said the word.

Resilience is a trait Mark prides himself in having, he doesn't admit defeat easily, especially not when he hasn't even had a chance with the challenge. It shouldn't even be considered a challenge, it's just another Wednesday in his book.

The door opens while Mark is weighing the pros and cons of all this. He freezes, gawking at the two men standing by the door.

As surreal as it had been in Japan, seeing Johnny in person throws all his thoughts out the window, dropping seven stories down where they're metaphorically run over by a passing semi-truck.

Mark doesn't quite process what happens between this moment and the next, but he's sure greetings and pleasantries are exchanged, even with his thoughts scrambled, he's anything but rude. The next thing he knows, they're all seated and buckling down into business.

The man Mark doesn’t recognize happens to be the creative director for this album.

This album.

 _Johnny's_ album.

Johnny's first solo mini album.

And Mark will have a hand in writing and composing for it.

It doesn't feel like an album, it feels like the entire world is now in Mark's hands. Despite being aware that it's not entirely in his responsibility, he feels like he's going to fuck everything up. The album, Johnny's music career, his own career, their relationship. _Everything_.

(Mark doesn't know how their relationship can get any more fucked than it already is. But the only person that thinks their relationship is a mess is himself.) 

Something about recognizing the possible ends sparks a renewed vigour in him. He's going to kill it. He's going to make sure this album is the best god damn thing he'll ever work on, and he already has an impressive discography. 

This is about Johnny. It's not about him and it's certainly not about him _and_ Johnny.

Johnny deserves the best for his first album. Still, there's a nagging voice in Mark's head telling him he won't be able to provide that. He's going to forgo sleep if he has to, drown in his work until his own feelings get swept along with the tide. There are no qualms about the effort he will need to put into this project, because despite this being his job, writing has always been a bit of a cathartic escape for him.

Much of the overall concept has been decided, including the genres they're looking for in the songs. There's criteria that needs to be met, and it aligns so perfectly with Mark's repertoire that he is convinced that the universe is playing a sick joke on him. It's as if this project was meant for him, no wonder why they wanted him working on this album over Taeyong or anyone else.

The inane yet rational part of his brain is telling him that it's not just the stars aligning or karma or time finally catching up to him, the choice is ultimately down to Johnny. Mark doesn't want to think about it, what are the chances that Johnny had considered Mark as a viable candidate himself and it hadn't been some higher up in Johnny's company recognizing Mark as a prospect who happens to have had a working relationship with Johnny.

It's Johnny's album after all, he has all the creative freedom his company is willing to give him. Freedom that Mark would normally have too, yet he feels so ineluctably trapped, pinned down by the weight of responsibility to create something that meets everyone's expectations.

Mark wants to laugh. Everything about this is ridiculously twisted, it's almost comical how irrevocably out of his control this situation is. Instead, he bites his tongue and reaches for his abandoned cup of coffee. Now cold and bitter, he takes a nervous gulp, nearly downing the entire thing. It tastes a lot like how he feels.

To Mark's relief, the meeting wraps up in no time. The director leaves first. Taeyong follows, not without giving Johnny a drawn out hug. He shoots Mark a look, silently asking if he's okay.

"We're still on for lunch on Friday?" Mark says as a way to reassure him.

"Always," Taeyong smiles, pressing a quick peck to Mark's cheek, "wouldn't miss it for the world."

Then Taeyong is gone, likely heading to his next meeting, leaving Mark alone.

Alone with Johnny.

Johnny who Mark hasn't seen in three years. Johnny who Mark has only ever occasionally spoken to over those three years. Johnny who Mark hasn't even been able to look at all morning.

So Mark looks at Johnny, _really_ looks at him for the first time in three years.

Johnny is as heartbreakingly beautiful as Mark had left him, familiar yet so different. He's not quite the Johnny he used to know. He's not quite Johnny from NCT. He's not quite Mark's Johnny.

Then again, Johnny was never really his.

He's the Johnny Mark sees everywhere. It's recognition more than actual familiarity he feels. Yet Johnny looks none the wiser, he looks at Mark with soft eyes and a curled smile, striking the guilt festering deep within him. It's a panging kind of pain, echoing resoundly.

It's almost as if nothing has changed between them. Almost as if Mark hasn't been turning down Johnny's requests to see each other over the years. Almost as if Mark hasn't been giving Johnny the cold shoulder because he hasn't been able to push his stupid feelings aside. Selfishly, Mark still wants him, and it's undeserved.

Another minute with Johnny would only bring out something he's spent years burying. Pathetic he thinks, he needs to leave—

"Hey," Johnny says, shaking Mark from his thoughts.

"Uh, hey," he responds brokenly, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"It's been a while, huh," Johnny says with a sense of normalcy that Mark shouldn't find himself missing. He approaches Mark where he's hastily gathering his belongings into his arms.

 _A while_ , of course Johnny would make light of this, he only feels guiltier.

"Yeah, I guess it has," Mark says. The pen balanced behind his ear slips and clatters onto the glass table, rolling away.

The next few seconds are an absolute fever dream. Johnny picks up the pen and tucks it back behind Mark's ear. His fingers brush along the shell of Mark's ear, lingering far longer than it should warrant. Maybe Mark is just imagining everything moving in slow-mo as his heart races. It's perennial, his reaction, he didn't know something like this would ever surface again. Fucked, he is so fucked.

"How are you?" Johnny is watching him pensively, eyes flickering over Mark's face as if tracing every line and contour, imprinting his features into memory as if he's afraid he'll never see him again.

It's the time and distance that makes Mark read too much into this. He's forgotten what it's like to be around Johnny, and all Johnny has done so far is the bare minimum and it's affecting him more than he could even fathom.

"I'm doing good, I guess?" he croaks. He's far from good, at least right now in front of Johnny he's not good. Dreadfully, he doesn't want to be here any longer, but he asks out of courtesy, "How have you been?"

"I've been good."

Good.

Without Mark.

Some part of him wishes it could stay that way. Johnny doesn't need him around, he's been fine — _good_ — without him.

"Is your number still the same?" Johnny questions. KakaoTalk has become their most common way of communicating, most of the time it's in the group chat and rarely privately. Never once has it crossed Mark's mind to let Johnny know he's changed his phone number.

Then again, Mark tries not to think about Johnny at all.

"Oh, um. No, I had to change it a while back," he responds sheepishly.

"So that's why you've been ignoring my texts," Johnny muses, passing Mark his phone.

Mark's heart nearly stops. Seeing his old number on the contact screen makes him feel so fucking guilty that he keys in his new number without hesitation. He returns the device back to Johnny without thinking twice about the repercussions he'll face with Johnny in possession of his new number.

"Sorry, I meant to tell you but it completely slipped my mind I guess," he half lies, trying to shrug nonchalantly as if it's less of a deal than he's making it out to be. It did slip his mind, it wasn't like he forgot on purpose when he never even considered telling Johnny in the first place.

"No worries, man," Johnny cheerily accepts, pocketing his phone.

"Um, look," Mark starts, guilt floods him, he has to leave this room right now, "I've got some things to attend to. It was nice seeing you again, hyung."

"Yeah, it was good seeing you too, Markie," the nickname hits a sore spot, a familiarity Mark wasn't quite ready for. He thinks he might break if he stays any longer.

He passes Johnny on his way out. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Johnny raising his arms, an invite for some sort of hug, or something. Mark doesn't quite catch it, pretending he doesn't see it at all.

Without looking back, he calls out, "See you next week."

NCT 127 disbanded in 2023.

Mark thought it had been a good run. In retrospect, it would be too callous to say it wasn't good, and maybe it's insensitive to say that it was, but the others seem to be doing just fine. In the end, it had been a mutual agreement.

There's two of them left in the company, though that's just it. It's just Mark and Taeyong, each their own individual person, and not two people part of a greater whole. The group is gone, dismantled into ten different cognizant parts that are still miraculously interconnected with each other. The links aren't as strong as they used to be, but it's still there, held together by over a decade's worth of friendships, hardships, and all things that fall in between.

Between the moments Mark isn't Mark Lee the _soloist_ , he works as an in-house lyricist and composer. There's comfort in familiarity, he rarely takes on writing gigs for other companies. Maybe working with Johnny isn't as jarring as it should be, not when Mark has known Johnny for basically half his life. He had just spent three of those years avoiding him though.

His studio is a second home, and he spends more time in it than anywhere else. As Yuta once commented, maybe he is a bit of a perfectionist, but he thinks he's more of a people pleaser, always adamant on refining his skills in areas other than performance. He considers it job security more than anything.

He gets fragments of information of where and what the others are doing occasionally. Taeil had enlisted right away. Taeyong, and Doyoung followed soon after. They're all back now, doing their own things.

Mark isn't quite sure what Taeil has been up to, but he's heard that he's releasing an album soon and he wants Mark to write a song for it. He sees Taeyong every week, and sometimes they still work together when the job calls for it. Doyoung has taken to musical theatre, and Jaehyun has dipped his toe into acting on top of his music.

The others are doing well. Yuta is unable to stay still, going between Japan and Korea, and even jet-setting all over the world living his best life. Jungwoo occasionally makes a public appearance, but he's been keeping hush about what he's been doing lately. Sicheng is popular in China, unfortunately for Mark, he doesn't remember the last time he's really seen Sicheng in person. Donghyuck unsurprisingly has been releasing hit after hit as a soloist while still pestering Mark when he's not dominating the charts.

Then there's Johnny.

Johnny has always been ambitious, with too many goals, and too little opportunities and not enough time to pursue them. Except now Johnny has all the time in the world, so Mark really shouldn't be surprised to see Johnny everywhere.

Roles in the latest prime-time drama, adverts in subway stations, in Japan as the fucking ambassador of Shu Uemura (Mark sees the same thing in Korea now that he's taken notice of it, and it's just as surreal here, though he's more baffled by how expensive lipsticks can get). Johnny's even a radio host with Jaehyun for something that looks a lot like a revival of NCT Night Night (for legal reasons, it's not called that, but Mark has tried to not care enough to learn its name).

He hasn't been able to escape Johnny no matter how hard he's tried. Johnny is everywhere but in Mark's life.

It feels like there was a break up that came along with the disbandment, though Mark hardly considers it much of a break up when they were never really together. Ex-something. That's what they are.

They were something, maybe they were an almost, but they were never for certain.

The first day in the studio, Johnny is emanating with excitement, too eager to get all his ideas out in the air. He presents Mark with some half finished songs he wrote, and Mark wonders why Johnny even needs his help at all.

"These are really good, hyung. Like really fucking good," Mark comments, astonished. This is Johnny's first foray into music as a solo artist but it feels like he's been doing this far longer than Mark has.

They've worked on music together before, messing around with beats and writing verses when they lived under the same roof. Most of those songs never saw the light of day, nothing more than one of the many secrets between them. At least this is one secret that's physically tucked away in a hard drive somewhere in Mark's apartment, and out of his consciousness.

It hasn't even been half an hour and they're bouncing ideas off each other. A set of lyrics from one of Johnny's unfinished songs prompts Mark to pull out some of his own unfinished lyrics, ones that were hastily typed into the Notes app on his phone.

Their similar tastes and artistic styles make it easy for everything to slide together, fitting snugly into place like puzzle pieces. There's a lot more work that needs to be done, gaps that need to be filled, and polished off but it's a good outline, they're headed towards the right direction.

It scarily mirrors their renewed relationship. Pieces easily sliding together that Mark already knows will fit. They have in the past, and that's where Mark draws the metaphorical line. He doesn't want those gaps filled, he doesn't want his heart to be filled by Johnny again. It's a tune that's already been played, he knows how it ends: dissonant and unresolved.

It'll just be another mess added on top of the existing pile of false hope, what ifs, and years of uncertainty. He needs the space — the gaps — something to ensure he has room to breathe so he doesn't suffocate again.

The last thing Mark wants to do is push Johnny away. All he wants is space, he doesn't want to get too close. He's learned once before, he's not willing to make the same mistake twice.

But Mark never wants to consider Johnny a mistake.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," Johnny preens.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark questions, quirking a brow. He knows what it means, he just doesn't believe it's coming from someone he looked up to when he was younger.

"I don't know, man," Johnny shrugs, rubbing a hand along his forearm bashfully. "You've been doing this far longer than I have. I guess you're just more experienced and it means a lot to me that you think it's good."

"You regard me too highly," he laughs weakly, looking back down at Johnny's laptop. There's a sticker from their final album stuck on the space next to the touchpad. If Mark recalls correctly, the laptop is a relatively new model, released within the last year or so. Their last album was released three and a half years ago. Mark tries not to overthink that detail.

"I'm serious. I've heard a lot of your songs, and you've grown a lot, Markie. Both artistically and as a person. I'm really proud of you and everything you've done so far, and everything you will do," Johnny boasts.

"Hyung, that's— you've been keeping up with my music?" his voice breaks, breath getting caught in his throat as he raises his eyes hesitantly to look at him. Johnny is beaming, looking so incredibly proud of him.

"Yeah, of course dude. The song you wrote for Yuta and Chanmina's collab?" Johnny whistles, impressed. "Absolute whiplash, you started something in the industry."

"Oh," Mark says solemnly, the praise feels undeserved. It's as if he's just been dunked in an ice cold bath, a frigidly rude awakening to his own shitty behaviour. "Thanks, I guess?"

While Mark had spent the last few years avoiding Johnny on all fronts, Johnny had kept up with his music, even the songs Mark wasn't explicitly featured on himself. Yuta isn't too far removed from either of them, and news travels fast amongst them, so he's not surprised that Johnny is aware of that collaboration and Mark's involvement in it.

Except Mark also has some more obscure contributions under his name, songs that require some effort to find. The thought of Johnny scouring through his KOMCA profile on a regular basis in search of his music pulls at the guilt that's already so resounding.

"What? You don't think so?" Johnny cocks his head, puzzled.

"It's not that," Mark sighs, picking at the frayed edge of one of the holes in his ripped jeans. "I can't take all the credit, there's other people who helped on that song. Chanmina is an incredible composer and lyricist, and Yuta had his input too."

"You still had a hand in it. Your name is in the forefront of all the other composers. You should take credit where it's deserved, Markie," Johnny paws at his arm with his hand, "you're better than you think you are. At least, I think so. The rest of Korea seems to think so too, why else would your music chart so consistently?"

Mark flounders, mouth agape in search for words.

Stop, stop, stop. His heart shouldn't be pounding like this from a little praise. This is what he does for a living, he's used to this type of praise, but the same words coming out of Johnny's mouth bear more weight than it would if it was coming from anyone else.

"I— fine," he rasps, throat gone dry. "Thanks."

"That wasn't so hard now was it?" Johnny chuckles. He leans into Mark's space to peer at the monitor where Mark has another song pulled up on Ableton Live. Finger over the spacebar, Johnny grins, "Alright, let's hear this one, I can already tell it'll be a banger."

This close, Johnny faintly smells like that stupidly overpriced limited edition Jo Malone cologne Mark had bought him for his twenty-eighth birthday.

Normalcy shouldn't be found so easily but Mark finds comfort in routine and familiarity. He delves into work right away, balancing it with his personal projects. Projects that Mark hasn't really touched in a while but it's a much needed distraction between the album and Johnny. Work as a distraction for work, Mark should find it amusing, but he seems to have the inability to laugh at the thought.

Things should be rockier than this, but Johnny is easily magnetic, wondrous, and bright. He draws others around him in, and Mark can't help but willingly follow. Mark has to remind himself that he shouldn't get drawn into Johnny's orbit, that he shouldn't get too comfortable. This is a temporary affair, it'll be over in less than two months. It's difficult when a good rapport, and substantial chemistry is required for a project as personal as this one.

 _Personal in more than one way_ , Mark disparagingly mocks himself.

Over the following weeks, Johnny's schedule starts clearing up for his debut preparations. He stops by Mark's studio on days he's free with his laptop tucked under his arm, and a flurry of new ideas and admirable enthusiasm.

Johnny is practically bursting at the seams each time Mark sees him, and Mark can't help but feel a little endeared by his ambitious nature. He's bold, practically spilling with ideas that are realistically improbable, but he's determined and Mark likes that kind of enthusiasm.

Most artists Mark has worked with fall into passivity. It's not entirely a negative thing, he appreciates the creative freedom their passiveness allows him, but he also appreciates it when he's able to write something personalized to the artist. Johnny just so happens to check that box with his creative tangents and active participation.

They find a rhythm between themselves. It's familiar, reminiscent, nostalgic, and inherently so _them_. It should be awkward between them, there should be a divide between them spanning the distance three years can make. To Mark's surprise, it's nothing like that.

Inside jokes, old habits, familiar touches. Everything slowly melds into something that resembles _Johnny and Mark_. It's not quite the same as it used to be, it's aged with time, as if they haven't spent a second apart.

Some days, they sit in a comfortable silence, headphones on as they work separately. Other days, they gather what they have, riffing to a new set of chords on the guitar or keyboard, and spitting freestyle bars along with hand penned lyrics in hopes it'll take them somewhere they've yet to touch.

As it turns out, Johnny is ridiculously adept at composing new melodies, and it makes the whole process so much faster.

("Wait how about," Johnny reaches into Mark's space to put his hand onto the MIDI keyboard, his other hand points to the monitor at one of the sections, "instead of a G for this chord," he plays the chord, "make it G flat," he plays the new chord, "It makes it sound more like… ominous? Or like discordant?"

"Holy shit," Mark agrees in awe. "Yo that works so well!")

He's missed this. He's missed Johnny. He misses Johnny on days the other man isn't around. Mark wonders why he had been so weak that he had given up such a thing in the first place. It's guilt and regret that mediates his thoughts, he doesn't deserve Johnny's patience.

He feels like he should be making up for lost time.

Three years. Mark could live without Johnny for three fucking years. Looking back, he wonders how he could buy that time back. What's gone is gone, he can acknowledge that. Instead, he looks forward to the next time he sees Johnny.

"Have you ever thought about it? Going home, I mean," Johnny asks around a mouthful of kimbap.

They're sitting on the couch in Mark's studio with various snacks scattered across the coffee table after an impromptu late night snack run at 7-Eleven. It's past ten, and normally Johnny would check up on him via text and pester Mark to go home until he actually does. Old habits are hard to break, and working into the late hours is amongst the many habits he's unfortunately yet to let up.

Tonight Johnny had dropped by personally after his schedule, hair and makeup still done up. Despite that, Johnny will probably goad him to go home after they're finished eating but he appreciates the company.

Mark has been staring at the same track for hours now, eyes completely strained, and wrist sore. Nothing has been working out and he's certain at some point tonight, he would have given up on the entire thing if it wasn't for Johnny's impromptu visit.

"What do you mean?" Mark blinks, distractedly staring at the single grain of rice stuck to Johnny's bottom lip.

"Like returning back to Vancouver," Johnny reiterates, licking his lips. The grain of rice hangs on, but Mark doesn't say anything, because saying something means admitting out loud that he's been staring at Johnny's lips. Old habits, Mark mentally notes, another one he'll need to break.

Mark sips his melon milk thoughtfully, biting down on the straw. He hardly considers Vancouver home when he's lived in Seoul far longer than he had lived in Vancouver or anywhere else for that matter.

In honesty, he's never quite felt at home here either. It's always felt temporary, there never was meant to be any permanence. He knew this even at sixteen, he thought he was going to meander through idol life on borrowed time. Near the tail-end of their group's career, permanence felt less like an option so he had to think about what he was going to do, and where he was going to go.

It felt right to stay in Korea, it felt right to re-sign with SM.

Even now, it still feels temporary.

"Yeah, but I think I'm good here?" Mark admits. His family is here, so are most of his friends and colleagues. And _Johnny_.

Johnny is here.

Johnny still has family and friends back in Chicago. It makes his question more head-tilting, a thought that Mark doesn't want to consider arises.

"Have you?"

Johnny takes this time to finally wipe his lips with a napkin, the grain of rice goes with it. It's a moment before he answers, "Yeah, I have."

"Will you?" he asks anxiously, not sparing a beat between his question and Johnny's answer. It's a little too eager, too desperate.

Johnny bites his bottom lip thoughtfully. An old habit of his own, Mark thinks, he's always thought it was endearing.

His adoration shatters when Johnny finally speaks, "Not any time soon I don't think."

It's left unsaid. The uncertainty of Johnny's answer says more than Mark hears. Mark shouldn't care what Johnny does with his life when he's spent years straying away from it.

It's strange to see something that has been so ingrained into his identity for so many years flourish without him. Moving along like nothing has really happened, like an entire boy group hasn't disbanded because they could be replaced with new faces under a similar name.

Mark wouldn't go as far as to say they've been replaced. The new group has a new concept, different members, and a completely different style. It's what the company had intended when NCT was initially announced. Nothing more than a brand that's sustained by cycling through members and new ideas just slightly different from the last.

Sometimes, he still has to remind himself that he's no longer Mark from NCT.

He's met some of the kids. They're all sweet, and have so much potential and talent yet to be unleashed into the world. He wonders if this is what his seniors felt when they debuted. The pride and the longing for the youthful enthusiasm that their juniors had possessed. Mark only wishes he had cherished it a little more, he was a little too eager to grow up, to catch up with all his hyungs.

These kids will soon sweep the nation, and later the world. It's what Mark sees when he's invited to watch them practice. They look at him with equal amounts of adoration and idolization as he had (and still has) for all his role models, but they also look at him with wariness and apprehension. It's as if one false slip would bury their careers six feet under.

He's twenty-seven, and in this industry he feels so fucking old watching these teens practice. He has all the experience and wisdom any veteran idol has, but he doesn't know what to do with it sometimes.

The group finishes another run through of their choreography.

"That was good?" Mark simply comments.

"Good?" The choreographer raises a brow, she leans towards him and whispers, "You know you can be harsher. They're more likely to listen to you, you know. Some constructive criticism would do them some good."

There's something in her words that shakes him, tilting him off his axis, reminding him that to other people he's Mark fucking Lee.

He can't fault the kids, he knows they would be less fumbly if he wasn't here making their performance anxiety go absolutely bonkers. Being in the presence of someone they respect is a familiar feeling Mark had been acquainted with many times.

Mark remembers the first time SuperM had gathered for practice. Three years as an idol and all the confidence and professionalism in the world hadn't prepared him to have Taemin, Jongin, and Baekhyun's eyes on him. It's not the same as being watched by the entire industry on a stage where it's easy to forget who's in the audience. In a practice room where three of the members have had extensive careers, it feels like the whole world is watching.

These kids have had less experience with idolhood than Mark had when he started promoting with SuperM. It's understandable, and he reassures them of that when he starts handing out critiques.

Mark spends the next ten minutes going through each member, commentating on everything they could improve on. Facial expressions, fluidity, sharpness, balance, the proper angle of their limbs, everything he's learned himself. The kids eagerly take all his notes in stride, hanging onto every single word with bright eyes.

He's in the middle of a sentence when the studio door creaks open slowly. Johnny slides into view with a sheepish smile on his face. He mouths what seems like _'sorry for intruding'_ , and Mark watches as the members all turn to greet him, panic written all over their faces because not only is Mark Lee currently in the studio, so is Johnny Suh.

Mark looks at the choreographer, prompting her to call for a short break.

"Hey, what are you doing here? How did you even know I would be here?" Mark asks, bounding up to him with curious eyes. He hasn't seen Johnny in a few days, neither was he expecting him to drop by until tomorrow.

"Hey," Johnny chuckles, "I dropped by your studio and you weren't there so I thought maybe you would be in one of the practice rooms. To be honest, I wasn't expecting to actually find you."

"And here I am," Mark says, mildly impressed. Maybe his daily whereabouts are just predictable, he likes sticking to a vague routine, he shouldn't be surprised that Johnny managed to find him. "What's up?"

"Well I thought maybe we could grab lunch and get some work done, but it seems like you're busy," Johnny says, glancing at the members goofing around the practice room.

"Yeah, kinda. But I should be free in an hour if you're willing to wait."

"Oh," Johnny says disappointed, "I've gotta head to a photoshoot in an hour."

"Shit, sorry dude."

"What are you apologizing for, silly," Johnny gently pats his shoulder, "I'm the one who dropped by unannounced. We'll be meeting tomorrow anyway."

A shriek draws their attention towards the tallest boy who is wrestled down to the ground by one of the smaller boys while a third boy wrangles the taller boy's sneakers off and tosses each shoe in opposite directions.

"Jesus, were we like that?"

"Pretty sure Donghyuck has terrorized everyone in a similar way before. No shoe is safe." Johnny watches the ensuing chaos, amused.

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as another shriek comes from the same boy. He sighs, "Our instructors must have all hated us."

There it is, Johnny's bright staccato laughter bubbling out of thin air. It's endearing, and easily has Mark smitten, he'll never get sick of hearing it.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Johnny sighs wistfully. He has a distant look on his face, likely recalling all the shit they had gotten into within this building alone. Johnny looks at him, a faint smile on his lips, "We were so freaking annoying, but it was fun and I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Yeah," Mark levels Johnny's gaze, eyes searching the other man's eyes for a moment. What he finds, Mark isn't so sure, but he understands it anyway "I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Johnny holds his gaze. A beat passes before he looks away, breathing out, "Yeah."

"Hey," Johnny slings an arm around Mark's shoulder. Mark leans into the embrace, an automatic reaction that he doesn't catch before it's too late. "If I'm allowed, can I watch?"

As if on cue, the choreographer cheerily chimes in, "That would be a fantastic idea! I'm sure the kids would benefit from your advice."

Practice soon resumes with Mark's comments duly noted by the members. The improvement is evident, but the nerves are just as obvious. This must seem like an impromptu evaluation to them, informal and unexpected, and Mark knows if he was in their position, his nerves would skyrocket too.

Johnny provides his own input for improvements to the members. Mark watches him with rapt attention, infatuated by a new persona that's manifested, someone that Mark has never seen before. He's stern yet forgiving, words spoken with ease, and not at all condescending. Mark wonders if the juniors in Johnny's company seek him out for guidance too, he's always been a good hyung.

Eagerly, the members respond by following Johnny's comments in their next run through of the song.

After about twenty minutes, Johnny quietly excuses himself when he gets a notification on his phone. He mouths something Mark can't quite decipher, Mark has never been that good at reading lips anyway.

Johnny returns with two bags of take out, calling everyone to take a lunch break.

"I thought that since we can't go for lunch, I'd bring lunch to us," Johnny tells him as they settle into their own corner of the studio.

"Yo _dude_ , I was going to buy them lunch," Mark complains. "You're really stealing my thunder here, I wanted to be the cool hyung today."

" _You_? A cool hyung?" Johnny laughs, reaching over to pinch Mark's cheek. Mark swats Johnny's hand away, scrunching his face in faux annoyance as he evades Johnny's subsequent attempts.

"Now they're going to think I'm mean because of all the critiques I gave."

"That's impossible. Mark Lee and the word 'mean' should never be in the same sentence. You can't be mean even if you tried, you'll always be one of our babies," Johnny coos, pinching Mark's ear instead. Mark lets him, taken aback by Johnny's comment.

"Our," he echoes, trying to wrangle some noodles around his chopsticks. There is no 'our' or 'we' or 'us' anymore. Just another slip up, Mark feels strangely comforted that Johnny suffers from it too.

"You know what I meant," Johnny responds, leaning back on his arms as a fond smile spreads across his face. "If it makes you feel better, you'll always be my baby."

It strikes him unexpectedly, he nearly inhales on his food in shock. It's teasing like this that flusters him, his ears burn red, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He sputters, "I'm twenty-seven!"

"Still my baby," Johnny playfully teases. This time, Mark lets him pinch his cheek.

**johnny** [10:22 am]  
yo  
you busy saturday night?

Mark stares at his phone, brain still slowly booting up as he lazily reads the words over twice.

It's his day off, but he dictates much of his own schedule when he's not actively promoting. He slept in until ten, rolled around in bed for half an hour while he bathed in the warmth casted by the sunlight coming in through his window.

Mindlessly, he scrolls through his social media feeds, taking his time to catch up on what the other members have been up to. Near the end of his Twitter feed, he comes across a set of photos from Johnny's recent photoshoot with Vogue Korea, and shamelessly, he adds the tweet to his bookmarks. He'll read the interview later, he tells himself, a false sense of justification for saving the photos discreetly.

In the first set of photos Johnny is wearing a black Saint-Laurent suit. The gold brocade makes the pieces look far more expensive than they already are, but then again, Johnny can probably make a trash bag look expensive.

The second outfit is far more scandalous than Mark is willing to acknowledge. Johnny is wearing another suit jacket, this time it's draped over his shoulders and does nothing to cover up the fact that he's wearing a fucking mesh bodysuit. The deep cut of the fabric by his hips frames his v-line, and to Mark's relief, he's wearing a pair of black cargo pants.

He closes Twitter, and considers sleeping the rest of his day away to forget the existence of those images. Even as he closes his eyes, they have been burned into his eyelids.

Johnny's message catches his attention once again. If the red bubble mockingly challenging him to respond isn't the thing forcing him to reply, then it's all the previous guilt from instances he's unknowingly left Johnny on read that makes him relent.

 **mark** [10:34 am]  
i don't think so  
why?

 **johnny** [10:34 am]  
wanna go see doyoung's musical together?  
we can grab food after if you want

Mark blearily stares at Johnny's response, reaching for his glasses on his bedside table, and raises the screen brightness. He squints at the message, blinks once, twice, rolls over to the other side of his bed for good measure.

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he gets out of bed, leaving his phone in the tangle heap of his blankets and heads towards the washroom to wash up and get ready for the day. By the time he's finished, he leaves the washroom feeling refreshed and alert, thoughts properly disentangled.

When he returns to his bedroom, his phone blips again with a new message.

 **johnny** [10:48 am]  
it's cool if you don't want to tho

Mark stares at the text. Then he scrolls up to see the previous messages, they're still there, written exactly how Mark had read them.

It'll be fun, he tells himself. He doesn't remember the last time he's done something that was for leisure like this. He's been busy all week, the deadline for the song he wrote for Taeil's album is fast approaching, but it's nothing an all-nighter can't fix.

 **mark** [10:48 am]  
nah dude  
i'm down

 **johnny** [10:48 am]  
sweet  
show starts at 7  
i'll meet you around 5:30 and we can go together

The sunlight streaming through his window isn't the only warmth he feels.

He personally meets with Taeil on Friday to get his opinion on the song before Mark sends it in for mixing. Donghyuck tags along, his visit is unexpected, but Mark lets it slide because Donghyuck happens to be the featuring artist. He supposes his opinion is just as valuable as Taeil's input.

"Any plans for the weekend, hyung?" Mark asks in an attempt to make light conversation as the song plays again.

"Not really," Taeil answers, "What about you?"

"I'm seeing Doyoung hyung's musical with Johnny hyung," Mark says, scribbling down a quick annotation into his notebook of something that needs to be changed in the song.

"With Johnny hyung?" Donghyuck repeats, bewildered.

Mark glares at Donghyuck who is sitting on his couch, lazily stirring the straw of his bubble tea whilst looking too much at home with his shoes off and legs crossed. At least he has the decency to take his shoes off, Mark justifies.

"Yes, I do believe that's what I said," Mark says dryly.

"As in a date," Donghyuck continues, staring at him like he's grown another head. He sets his drink down onto the coffee table, arms animatedly waves excitedly, "Oh my god, it's happened."

There are two people in this world who are aware of Mark's history with Johnny. One of them is currently in his studio looking at him with an impressive amount of disbelief and joy.

Mark trusts his confidants, neither Donghyuck nor Taeyong would say anything to anyone else, but it wouldn't surprise him if the other members knew. He wasn't exactly subtle about his crush on Johnny.

He's by no means dense, but it took Donghyuck calling him out for him to recognize his own feelings. If it was obvious to Donghyuck, then it must have been obvious to everyone else. Mark wishes Donghyuck had kept his mouth shut, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess, dealing with the repercussions years later.

"You're dating Johnny?" Taeil asks, the calmness in his voice is a little unnerving.

Taeil has always been so observant. He's quiet when he spectates from the sidelines, only speaking up when his dongsaengs are in need of guidance. He sees more than he lets on sometimes, even when he seems clueless when he does partake in their shenanigans.

"We are _not_ dating," he hisses, it's directed more towards Donghyuck who only rolls his eyes in response. "Why is that even the first thing you thought about?"

"You've barely spoken to him in years," Donghyuck pointedly says with an accusing tone. Mark thinks he kind of deserves the guilt trip Donghyuck is laying on him. Donghyuck squints, pinning Mark with a stern frown, "Something's changed."

"Nothing has changed," he bristles. _Everything's changed_. But he keeps quiet about Johnny's upcoming album, he has no right to talk about it even if it is a valid excuse as to why they're suddenly so close (at least, closer than they have been in years). He huffs, waving a hand dismissively, "He asked me because everyone else was probably busy."

Doyoung had extended his invite to all of them. It just so happens that Johnny asked him to see a musical that has undertones of date-night-with-the-significant-other written all over it.

"He didn't ask me and I've got all the time in the world," says Donghyuck, sounding almost upset. He turns to Taeil, "What about you hyung, did he ask you?"

"I don't believe he did," Taeil says.

"It's just as musical," Mark explains. He pauses the song so he's able to hear his own thoughts. It doesn't do much. "We're going because we want to support Doyoung hyung."

"You're going to see _Kinky Boots_ with Johnny hyung," Donghyuck reminds.

"I'm quite aware of that, Hyuck. I have, in fact, been an active participant in this conversation," Mark snarkily retorts.

"Kinky Boots," Donghyuck repeats, brows raised.

He considers threatening to delete the entire song out of spite but he's spent too much time on it and it's too fucking good of a song to let it go to waste. Out of pettiness, he considers giving it to Johnny who only needs one more song for his album.

"You've never even seen it," Mark rolls his eyes, "you're assuming too much just from the title."

As planned, Johnny meets him outside his studio around the designated time. It takes about thirty minutes to get to Chungmu Arts Center by taxi during the tail-end of rush hour.

Silence is filled by mundane chatter, they talk about the latest Netflix dramas that have been sparking their interests, prompting a whole conversation about recent shows the members have had roles in.

"I think Sicheng's latest drama is supposed to air sometime at the end of the month," Johnny mentions, as he watches Seoul whizz by through his window. Mark watches Johnny in the guise that the blurring cityscape makes him a little car sick.

"Really?" Mark questions.

He remembers seeing a trailer for the Song dynasty drama a few weeks back. He didn't catch the premiere date, much too distracted by the obscurely complex plot that he isn't able to recall. All he remembers is how Sicheng looks spectacularly elegant in the various elaborately hand-tailored hanfu his character adorns, and the long, neatly styled hair Mark isn't quite used to seeing on him.

"We should watch it together sometime," Johnny pulls up Naver on his phone to search up the drama. He pauses, brows raised high, "I mean, if you're down to keep up with 50 episodes."

"You sure you have time for that?"

Johnny's album is slated for release sometime mid-October. After the songs are finished, he'll be swept away by photoshoots, studio sessions, dance practices, and all things in between.

"Maybe after the album drops," Johnny pauses, pondering a bit, "or like after promotions."

"I'll have to take a rain check," Mark says. He has his own things going on in October, nothing is quite set in his own schedule right now. All he knows is that he won't be as swamped with work as Johnny will be.

"C'mon, man," Johnny pats Mark's knee, his touch burns through Mark's jeans. He jostles Mark's leg a bit, shaking it with puppy eyes and everything. "It'll be fun. You can come over to my place and we'll binge the hell out of it and get sick off of so much junk food."

 _Just like old times_ , Mark thinks he hears.

Sitting through who knows how many episodes in a binge session with Johnny seems like an incredible feat he'll have to build up to. Mark supposes today's show will be practice. How long can Mark Lee be alone with John Suh without work as a distraction? Mark is willing to bet he will survive the whole two hours of the musical. Anymore will be a testament to his own being.

"I'll see if I'm busy first."

By the time they arrive at the venue, the August sun is slowly burning its way down towards the horizon, sky painted by warm yellows and oranges. Its golden light reflects against the buildings, bathing everything within its reach with remnants of summer warmth.

"Theatre doors don't open for," Johnny glances at his watch, "another half an hour. You wanna head inside and grab our tickets now or you wanna hang around the neighbourhood for a bit?"

It's still hot out, and despite the sunblock Mark had slathered on himself, his skin feels like it's been scorched. Going inside seems like a good idea, maybe they can loiter around the foyer until doors open.

"Uh, I think going inside sounds good—" he stumbles over his words, mind going blank as Johnny's gaze lands on him. Johnny blinks, irises capturing the golden hour sunlight in their brilliant honey brown hue.

Johnny has always had gorgeous eyes, Mark thinks. If he's honest, he still gets a little enchanted by them, especially how drastically different they look under various lighting. It's not just by his eyes, everything about Johnny is hypnotizingly beautiful, and still renders Mark speechless and stammering over his words useless like a love-stricken teen.

"Mark, you okay? You're not getting heat stroke are you?" he sweeps Mark's fringe away from his forehead, pressing his hand against his forehead as if neither of them are burning. His temples are dampened with sweat, grimacing at the contact. He's a little grossed out more for Johnny's sake than his own.

"I'm fine," Mark assures. "You think there's aircon in the lobby?"

Doyoung is a performer, Mark knows that much. But seeing Doyoung on stage as an entirely different character from his idol persona sends Mark's mental representation of him flying.

As often as Doyoung had claimed to be a capable actor because his brother happens to be an actor, Doyoung usually takes acting lightly. Looking back, all instances involving acting out skits or reenacting scenes from dramas were never taken too seriously by any of them. Doyoung hadn't been an exception, he was just as susceptible to contagious giggling fits as anyone else.

However, Doyoung is admirably persistent when he sets his mind to an objective. He's one of the hardest working people Mark knows. Hours of practice eventually shows its worth, and by almost the end of the musical, Mark is completely enraptured by the show, and he's convinced that the man he's known for more than a decade _is_ Charlie Price.

It makes seeing Doyoung — Charlie Price — strut around the stage in a pair of red stiletto thigh high boots less jarring than it would be in any other context.

"I'm really glad you guys were able to make it," Doyoung calls out as he briskly approaches them from where they're waiting down the hallway. He's out of costume now, a simple pastel green button up with jeans, a different image from Charlie Price, and so very Doyoung.

"You were great, hyung!" Mark exclaims, giggling as Doyoung greets him with open arms, bringing him into a hug.

"Thank you, Mark, but I'm more gracious that you came," Doyoung pulls away to get a good look at him, "always so busy, aren't you? Who knew all it took was hyung asking for you to finally come out and hang with us."

This takes Mark by surprise. It's not like he's been avoiding Doyoung or any of the other members, he's just always been so busy and he joins them whenever possible. He doesn't need Johnny convincing him to go out, especially not when he's rejected all their invites when he knows Johnny would also be there (and all their invites when he's not certain, which really just ends up with him rejecting all invites in general).

"I've had a lot going on, hyung, I'm so sorry we couldn't meet up more," Mark says remorsefully.

"There's no need to apologize! Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Of course," Mark says, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Johnny raise a quizzical brow.

"That was a spectacular performance, Doyoung-ah," says Johnny.

"Thanks, hyung. Hey, by the way, I'm meeting up with Jaehyun and Jungwoo for food, you two wanna join us?" Doyoung offers.

"Oh, we were going to grab some food ourselves," Johnny startles, smile falling slightly.

"Good idea! I've been wanting to catch up with the other guys," Mark enthusiastically agrees. He's not sure how much longer he can be alone with Johnny without his heart threatening to leap out of his chest. He gently nudges Johnny with his elbow, "What do you say, hyung?"

"I guess that sounds fun," Johnny intones.

Jungwoo looks like he's five seconds away from crying from pure joy when he spots Mark, and Jaehyun does a double take like he's seen a ghost. It's truly been too long since he had last seen either of them, not since Jungwoo's birthday if Mark recalls correctly.

They splurge a bit on barbeque and soju because apparently Mark coming out for food is enough of an excuse to have a little more fun. He's content with anything the other guys are down for when a healthy amount of meat and liquor is involved.

Banter comes to them easily as they catch up with each other. Jaehyun gets cornered into talking about the crime drama he had just finished filming. He has nothing but praise for his co-star Im Jinah, and Johnny wonders aloud in awe at the pure visuals the two of them would bring on screen together.

When pressed, Jungwoo had been a little more evasive with what he's been up to, it's a surprise, he playfully winks.

Doyoung talks about the entire process of working in musical theatre. Everyone listens with rapt attention because it's all entirely new to them. It's like a whole new world, Mark thinks, there's some overlap, but it's just foreign enough that they pay too much attention to Doyoung's anecdotes and too little attention to the meat that is sizzling away on the grill.

The meat is a little scorched but it's salvageable with enough scraping at the burnt bits with the kitchen shears, and plenty of ssamjang makes it just as tasty.

"What about you, hyung?" Jungwoo asks. He's seated in front of Mark, looking at Johnny who has taken the spot next to Mark. "What have you been up to?"

"Well, I recently became the ambassador for Shu Uemura."

"Oh, we know. Especially after Yuta sent us that photo," says Doyoung with a pair of tongs as he watches over the grill.

"I keep getting ads with your face on Instagram," Jaehyun complains with a lilt of amusement in his voice. He sounds more impressed than annoyed.

"Anything else?" Jungwoo presses.

"Hm," Johnny thoughtfully hums, he casts Mark a knowing look before levelling the three men in front of them with a sly, teasing grin, "that's a secret."

"You two aren't any fun," Doyoung whines, accusingly pointing the tongs between Johnny and Jungwoo. "What about you, Mark?"

"Ah, well," he returns the knowing look back to Johnny as discreetly as possible, "nothing out of the usual, y'know, writing, composing, all the boring stuff."

"It's never boring when it's you," says Jungwoo.

"I do have something I'm working on, and I'll let you be the judge of that when it comes out," Mark says to Jungwoo.

In his peripheral, Doyoung pins him with a look, gaze shifting to Johnny again, and back to him. If he's caught on, then so be it, Doyoung is rather observant, usually clever enough to piece things together without any more hints than he's given.

"When's that gonna be?" Doyoung inquires.

"Not sure yet, probably mid-October?" Mark shrugs, tracing the rim of his shot glass with a finger.

"What about hyung?" Doyoung asks Johnny.

Johnny startles, quietly admitting, "Also October."

He can see the gears turning in Doyoung's head. Mark raises his brows, belatedly he exclaims, "Woah dude, you've got something happening too?"

Johnny laughs, too genuine for it to be an act. Fuck, why is he so beautiful, he thinks.

Maybe Mark has had too much soju, thoughts unfiltered and rattling in his head. It hits him all at once, and he's not particularly a lightweight but he's had more to drink than he usually does. His cheeks are burning, rapidly spreading to his ears.

The thing is, Mark is a clingy drunk. The kind of drunk to seek out the closest warmest, softest thing to hang onto, which in this case happens to be Johnny's arm. He loops his arm through Johnny's, pulling his hand into his lap and presses his cheek against his shoulder.

Johnny doesn't seem to mind, he just chuckles and pats his thigh, giving it a squeeze. Mark tries not to read too much into the affection, Johnny is just being Johnny. Unfairly, that's why Mark loves him, unashamed with his affection and so very comfortable with himself. Confidence rivaling his idol persona but in its own unique way. It's something that Mark has fortunately been privy to, unrestrained affection away from the cameras.

Momentarily, Johnny excuses himself to use the washroom while Mark mildly mourns the loss of his pillow. He reclaims Johnny's arm as soon as Johnny returns who only breathily chuckles at his eagerness, "Missed me?"

"So much." It means more than he's willing to admit.

The meal starts to wind down as the final round of meat gets cooked off and devoured. They must have eaten at least eight portions worth of meat, and consumed way too much soju. Yeah, Mark is definitely feeling it.

He smells like barbeque — they all do — Johnny does too but he also smells like that stupid Jo Malone cologne that Mark knows he only uses sparingly because it's _special_.

(Because it's limited edition, Mark tells himself, not because it was a birthday present. Three years is much too long to be keeping a cologne, Mark tries not to think about that.)

"C'mon, I'll take you home," Johnny pats his thigh again, pulling Mark from the strange stupor he's been in as he watches Doyoung and Jaehyun argue about the bill. Jungwoo had made an attempt to be part of the argument but had given up half way when he realized Doyoung is _loud_ , and Jaehyun is competitively insistent.

"Hyung?!" Doyoung shouts from where he and Jaehyun are at the register, the poor girl working the till seems more than startled at the outburst. "You already paid? When?!"

"When I went to the bathroom earlier. What kind of hyung would I be if I let my dongsaengs pay for the meal."

"Could've split the bill," Mark absentmindedly says, nuzzling his face against Johnny's shoulder.

"Don't be ungrateful." There's no bite to his words, Mark laughs.

"Okay, okay. Thank you, hyung," Mark says, tilting his head until it's in Johnny's view and smiling cutely. His expression turns neutral, "Is that what you wanted?"

Johnny huffs, "Unbelievable. And to think that aegyo was for me."

Without letting go of Johnny's arm, they walk outside to say their goodbyes to Doyoung, Jaehyun and Jungwoo.

"You sure you'll be okay with him?" Jungwoo turns to them, worried.

"Out of the four of us, I think I'm the most experienced with handling a drunk Mark."

"Understandable, good to know he's in safe hands, have a good night!" Jungwoo waves before he joins Doyoung and Jaehyun who are now down the street shouting their own goodbyes.

"Take care, you guys! Good night!" Johnny waves back.

"Stay safe!" Mark sleepily calls out.

Johnny calls them a cab, and they sit in silence for the whole ride. Mark doesn't live too far away, and many of the larger roads are sparse with traffic at this hour.

The apartment Mark lives in is large enough that it has elevators, because there's no way he's hauling himself up seventeen floors while sloshed.

"You didn' have to like…. come up," Mark says, leaning all his weight against the cool metal wall of the elevator. "Would've been fine."

"I haven't seen you this smashed before and I was worried okay. Besides, I wanted to spend more time with you, we haven't hung out at all."

"'m not _that_ smashed."

"Not that smashed? You're clingier than normal, bro."

Mark doesn't argue with him. It's not like he's been particularly clingy with Johnny recently, having kept his distance and only accepting the touches Johnny initiates. As out of character as it is, not once has he actively sought out affection from Johnny since they started meeting again. Not since they disbanded, at least not until today.

"It's not a bad thing, I like it when you're clingy, you're like a kitten, it's cute," Johnny coos. Mark didn't hear that right, right? He blinks dumbly, even as Johnny tugs him out of the elevator with an arm slung around his shoulder.

"C'mon bud." He stares at Johnny, words still rattling in his head until he realizes they're walking down the wrong direction.

"Wait, wait, wait! Wrong way!" Mark giggles, wrapping an arm across Johnny's flank to maneuver them the opposite direction.

"Quiet, people are sleeping," Johnny laughs, voice soft, "How am I supposed to know? I've never been here."

Mark punches in his passcode, and they stumble into his foyer in a fit of giggles. Embarrassingly, it takes him a moment to wrangle his shoes off with a hand on Johnny's shoulder for balance. Contact, he's seeking out so much contact and he doesn't want to let go.

"You gonna be okay by yourself?" Johnny asks, making sure Mark safely gets to his bed.

"Mmhmm."

"I'll get you some water. Where do you keep your aspirin? Just in case, y'know."

Mark lolls his head to the side, humming deep in thought before he quizzically answers, "Washroom?"

Johnny leaves to retrieve the items, coming back after a few moments with a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of water from the fridge. Mark had situated himself on his bed since he left, laying on it as he stares at the ceiling. The room is spinning, nausea swaying more and more violently with each passing moment.

"Yo is the room spinning or just me?"

Johnny sets the items down onto his bedside table before moving to grasp one of Mark's legs, pulling it to the edge to plant his foot flat against the floor. The spinning lessens, there's still some swaying but he feels a lot better now that he's literally grounded.

"Better?"

"You're a fuckin' wizard, god what— what would I do without you," Mark blurts, the smile on his face quickly falls.

Something calls for him to ask Johnny to stay. To say to him, _don't leave_ , words that Mark had been so afraid to say that one night three years ago.

Three years ago, the night after their last concert, immortalized as a flashbulb memory with every detail too vivid to forget. It's all coming back to him now: the waning summer heat, the shadows casted by a single lamp in the room, the scent of Johnny's cologne, the fucking soju and samgyupsal. It's all too similar to where they are right now.

Back then, he should have held on a little tighter.

"What's wrong?" Johnny worries. Mark realizes he's grasped onto Johnny's shirt.

"Nevermind, just thinkin', 'm fine. You've got an early day right? Go home."

"Are you sure?"

This is silly, really. He's overreacting, and by the time he's sober tomorrow morning, he's only going to think about how stupid it is that he's so clingy. He has Johnny again, not in the way he wants, but he has Johnny back in his life. That should be enough. Johnny will still be there, even after he leaves Mark's apartment.

"Go, I'm fine! You need sleep too," Mark ushers, letting go of Johnny's shirt to pat at the same spot in an attempt to urge Johnny to leave.

"Okay," Johnny skeptically accepts. "You have my number if something's wrong. Make sure to drink the water, yeah?"

"Will do. G'night, hyung."

"Good night, Mark." With that said, Johnny leaves, the soft click of the front door feeling familiar in a strange way, stirring a memory shovelled deep in the back of his mind.

The white ceiling is uninteresting save for the two lights above the bed, Mark still finds himself staring at it vacantly anyway. Time blurs by, marked only by the lights in the building across the street flickering off one by one as its residents turn in for the night.

The room starts to spin again, not from the alcohol but by the memories flooding every corner of his mind, invading every conscious thought he has. All jumbled up and indiscernible, he has to sift through them for the ones worth remembering.

He sits up, downing at least half the bottle Johnny had set out for him before he moves across the room to retrieve his notebook and a pen. He shucks off his jeans to at least get a little more comfortable before he crawls back onto his bed.

Mark writes until dawn breaches the horizon and his thoughts have emptied themselves across several pages.

> _I wanna lean on your shoulder  
>  I wish I was in love but I don't wanna cause any pain  
>  And if I'm feeling like I'm evil, we've got nothing to gain  
>  What if I never even see you cause we're both on a stage  
>  Don't tell me listen to your song because it isn't the same  
>  I don't wanna say your love is a waiting game_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm not good at writing lyrics, I borrowed all lyrics from Banks and put them in blockquotes. The set of lyrics here are from [Waiting Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCT_lgJ5eq8).


	2. home

Mark is twenty-three years old when he experiences true heartbreak. It's stretched across four days, each day becoming another mind-numbing step towards the end. By day four, he's emotionally strung out. He wants it to end, he wants this heartbreak to finally end.

The end of this heartbreak would mean the end of them. The end of NCT 127.

Despite all the grief, heartache, and tears — fuck, why are there so many tears? — he cherishes every last moment.

"This is it, huh," Mark says listlessly. He fidgets with his in-ear where it hangs from his neck. Without it, he can hear the distant rumble of their fans from where they are waiting on standby backstage.

"This is it," Johnny echoes, his stare is a thousand miles away, not quite present and Mark feels just about the same. "Our last concert."

"Our _last_ last concert," he hears Donghyuck solemnly say. It digs a little too deep.

They have done three shows so far, each one another moment in a metaphorical time bomb waiting to explode. Today will be their last concert, their last _goodbye_ concert. No one calls it that, too hesitant and afraid of saying goodbye, but today they will utter those words with full intention.

This moment involved months of preparation. Everyone has been navigating through these final days with bated breath, afraid that if they breathe wrong it will shatter the good they still have left. By the end of this, Mark wonders if he will be able to let go.

They're lucky, Mark thinks, lucky enough to even have a concert. Most groups disband without much of a word, some release a single if their company is kind. They got the concerts, _and_ a song meant to be performed for the first and last time on this stage.

All that's left in their setlist is their encore and ending ment. Mark is shaking, heel anxiously tapping against the floor as they organize themselves to go back on stage.

A 'thank you' VCR is playing, it's a massive compilation of videos and photos of their journey as a group with all their achievements and milestones, and incredible heights they've managed to obtain in between all the good and the bad memories. Each member had narrated their own thank you's and goodbye's, and Mark has all the words memorized by now. He sometimes hears them in the little sleep he gets, and each time it hurts all the same.

Like clockwork, they line up on the stage lift. Even this — their standing order — has so much meaning to them that doing it a final time is another second to the time bomb. He has to remind himself not to dwell on every last thing they do, but part of him thinks he needs to remember each moment, never had he cherished the little things before it was too late.

The sea of neon green that used to bring him joy and comfort only brings him sadness now. Despite doing three of these shows already, he's not ready.

There's that piano, ever so somber, its recognizable succession of notes shakes his entire being, signalling them it's time to go back on stage. He's heard these acoustics too many times, spent a great deal in the recording booth rerecording his part until his throat became ruined from repetition, and frustration, and constant apologies towards their producer while in near tears.

He doesn't know who breaks first, but thirty seconds in, tears start prickling in his eyes, stinging. A minute in, they're threatening to fall as Donghyuck and Doyoung sing the pre-chorus. Doyoung's voice wavers, and Donghyuck's voice cracks horrendously as he stifles back tears.

Mark hasn't heard a voice crack like that since they went through puberty. It's just another reminder of how far they've come: from boys who had barely grown into themselves to men who are now more lost than ever. Today, they know where they are, they know who they are. Tomorrow, Mark doesn't want to even consider it.

Incessant all week, there's been something stirring in his chest. It's heavy and burdensome, weighing every single one of his movements and spirits down until it has compressed itself into one singular entity that Mark hadn't been able to identify until now:

Heartbreak.

And it's recognizable when they collectively sing the chorus with the fans singing along too, loud through his in-ears, shaking him apart. Their fans have always been so present and tonight is no different. They sing the lyrics, carrying the song along whenever one of them wavers, filling the stadium with every ounce of emotion, echoing heavily. It's almost haunting but so spectacularly beautiful.

How can something so unified be the most broken thing he's ever seen?

His verse is up next, tongue becoming nothing more than dead weight in his mouth as he stumbles over a few syllables in the first line. Subconsciously, he's reluctant to finish his verse, to finish the song. The end of the song would mean the end of them, Mark isn't ready to face that reality.

On his right, there's a reassuring hand squeezing his shoulder. He expects to see Donghyuck reaching over, instead it's Johnny who has extended his arm out behind Donghyuck to silently encourage him. It's enough of a push to drive him to finish his part with raw and unbidden emotion vibrating against the microphone. His hand trembles as he inhales a shaky breath to calm himself from the emotional high thrumming through his body.

He feels so incredibly drained; sadness dampening his energy. And it dampens his cheeks in the form of stray tears that have managed to escape.

Mark turns to his left and sees exactly what he's been afraid to see of the other members. It's nothing more than a song, he wants to tell them, don't think about its meaning or the context, it's just a song, it's just a concert, it's just a job. This is what they've been doing for seven years, this is what they all signed up for and it has to come to an end eventually.

He glances at Donghyuck, and he's not faring any better. He gives Donghyuck a tentative back rub and Donghyuck throws him a crooked smile, nose running and tears streaking down his face.

He's terrified of what he'll see if he shifts his gaze a little more to the right. He doesn't know why he's so afraid to look at Johnny, why seeing him broken would be worse than seeing anyone else broken.

Resolutely, he finally looks at Johnny.

Johnny Suh is like a pillar: reliable and strong. He holds steady, and ever the optimist he makes sure things are okay. Even when things aren't okay, he's truthful and honest, reassuring them they'll find a way. They always find a way if they have each other.

Mark wonders if things will be okay when tomorrow comes — when they're no longer together, when they theoretically no longer have each other.

Behind the hand Johnny has obscuring his face, he's sobbing, wrecked, shoulders shaking with every hiccup. His hand doesn't hide much from Mark's angle because regardless of when and where they are, Mark sees everything Johnny hides from the world, things in their daily lives that has Johnny putting on a brave face. Right now, it breaks his heart even more knowing he's still trying to be strong.

Mark thinks this is the smallest Johnny has ever looked, standing six feet tall yet so broken open and vulnerable.

He loves him. Mark loves Johnny in more ways than romantic, but Johnny deserves the world. He deserves everything Mark can't offer, he deserves someone who is capable of being his pillar. Mark is not that.

Mark is not that because he's crying, shattered into a million pieces as he watches the man he loves hurt, and he has never felt more useless than he does now. Tears stream down his cheeks unrestrained, hopelessly he knows he will never be Johnny's pillar.

Years ago, Mark thought he could at least be Johnny's umbrella. He believed that he didn't need to be strong and sturdy like a pillar when instead he could shield Johnny from the rain. He realizes now that he could never be Johnny's umbrella either when he's barely able to shield himself.

Mark realizes that as much as he wants to be Johnny's umbrella, he has been taking refuge under Johnny's strong presence. If anything, he's not a pillar, not an umbrella, he's the rain.

Burdensome and cold, he can't be the umbrella when he is Johnny's rain.

All he can offer, at least in this moment is solace. He extends a hand towards Johnny, much like how the other man had done for him. Johnny looks at him with all the sadness and hurt he's been trying to hide, and it plunges Mark into the icy depths of guilt that tells him he should back off.

He holds as steady as he can though, through the trembling he tells himself that this is for Johnny, this isn't for himself.

Johnny takes his hand and Mark makes sure he doesn't let go for the rest of the song, fingers clasped together tightly. This must look strange to everyone else, holding hands behind Donghyuck, but at the moment, it feels right to him.

This might be the last thing he has left to hold onto. He's already left too much slip through his fingers, now everything is out of grasp but the only thing he wants.

These become the longest four moments in Mark's life, yet seven years have never felt shorter.

An entire restaurant gets booked for a final meal with their staff, a thank you of sorts with plenty of soju and samgyupsal. Mark thinks it feels a little wrong to be celebrating the end of something, but he's appreciative of all the hard work their staff members have done for them over the years so he wills himself to enjoy this.

Over the bustling noise of the restaurant, Johnny's laughter carries, beautifully bright, head thrown back in a full body cackle at something Jungwoo had said. Love has never bloomed as strongly as does right now, he's been in love with Johnny for what feels like forever, but this is almost indescribable how his heart soars, emotions taken high into the sky with it. The soju doesn't help.

"Rather than looking at this negatively, Mark," Johnny says, back to being a pillar, a little split and crumbled on the edges but holding stronger than he likely feels. "Consider this the beginning of something new."

Mark wishes that that something new would be them.

Trudging through their front door with the little energy Mark has left, he's emotionally exhausted and the only thing keeping his legs moving is a belly full of good food. He follows the members through the dorm mindlessly, there seems to be a shift in everyone's routine, too reluctant to let their night end as they amble around.

Much of the dorm is bare. Belongings packed up in boxes, labelled accordingly and ready to be sent off to various parts of the city to their new homes, or in Yuta's case, an entirely different country. Most of them are moving out over the next few days, Mark is getting most of his stuff sent over to his new place tomorrow.

Mark had signed a one year lease for a studio apartment not too far from their current dorm. It's close enough that it convinces him not much will change, a bit of a stepping stone as he settles into his new life. Like everything in his life, it's a temporary place, it's nice albeit a little expensive but it's a good start.

They moved into this dorm a little over a year ago, called it home, and filled it with so much life that it always felt animated. Now, it's stripped and lifeless, Mark feels just as empty as it looks. It's bare, almost sterile, an empty shell ready to be filled by the next tenants.

At least everything has been immortalized into their memories, a little wistful and hazy, much like the afternoon naps he used to take on the living room couch.

He lays on his bed, feeling so much more alone than he usually does in this space. His thoughts are the only thing that are keeping him company, thoughts that sound a lot like Johnny asking him—

"Hey, how are you holding up?"

Mark blinks, pulling himself back into reality. He cranes his neck to see Johnny standing by his door, face barely lit by the single lamp in Mark's room. Mark can still see the worry all over his face.

"That kinda implies I've been able to hold anything together at all," he admits numbly. "Does that make sense?"

"Kinda," Johnny says, crossing the room to where Mark is laying and makes himself comfortable on the side of the bed Mark isn't currently occupying. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." His troubles are already burdensome. Johnny is going through the same thing, minus the whole in-love-with-your-groupmate thing, but there's other things weighing him down too. Mark doesn't want to make it worse, he never wants to be Johnny's rain ever again.

They lay in comfortable silence, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours as hundreds of memories blur through his mind. Memories of tonight, memories of the last seven years, memories of the four years he spent training, memories of every moment spent together, memories of every moment spent away from each other.

Memories he hopes to make in the future.

At some point, Mark thinks it's gotten too quiet, Johnny's breathing has evened out and he thinks the other man might have fallen asleep. His own eyelids are starting to droop, it's late, they should be going to bed. It wouldn't matter though, it's not like they have any schedules, he wants to drag out what little time they have left, no matter how worn out he feels.

A muffled laugh tells him that Johnny is still very much awake.

"Hm?" Mark sleepily inquires.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about how that must have been like the saddest performance of Fire Truck ever," Johnny laughs lightly as he sits upright. The statement takes Mark by surprise, not quite the humour he had expected to come out of Johnny's mouth, maybe it's a little too soon.

Fire Truck was chosen to be part of their encore. If Mark ignores the lyrics, and just about everything else about the song, he thinks it was a rather sentimental idea to close with the song they debuted with. They've come so far over the last seven years.

"I think every performance in the setlist was like the saddest version of itself," Mark reflects as he sits up too, his head throbs from the motion, already aching from how hard he had cried. "I still can't believe it's over, dude. Just like that," he snaps his fingers for emphasis, "it's over."

"It's not like we're saying goodbye forever, we'll still be friends."

 _Friends_ , Mark wishes they could be so much more.

"We'll never be NCT 127."

Johnny looks away, visibly working through his thoughts as he scans the room which is now nothing more than several boxes stacked upon each other and empty furniture.

It's not for another moment until Johnny speaks again, "This group brought us together. What's important is what we have left. What we come out of this as."

 _Not together_ , Mark bitterly thinks. Instead, he hesitantly asks, "What do we have left?"

"We won't know until it happens. We might be far apart, but we'll always have something."

Something, it's always just been something. Too many times it has been almost, or maybe, or not quite, but it's still always something. Too many moments through too many years of edging close to the line but never quite crossing it. Touches that are familiar, gazes that are held too long, acts of affection that could read so much more.

It's all been ambiguous and Mark has kept himself from saying or doing anything stupid.

They have a decade of friendship built between them, Mark isn't going to risk it. They have never been certain before. But now, it's more certain than ever, for the second time tonight, Johnny holds his hand.

And for the first time ever, Mark kisses Johnny.

It's chaste, nothing more than a brief press of lips before the realization settles in. He immediately pulls away like he's been burnt, clasping a hand over his mouth as if he can't believe what he has done.

"I—" Mark stammers, eyes wide. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I— I didn't mean to do that."

Johnny, just as shocked, acutely regards him. His eyes flicker over Mark's face for a moment with his lips parted — still so kissable — as he sits there in silence. He doesn't seem angry, or offended, or disgusted.

Just confused.

"I'm sorry," Mark repeats, this time quieter, head bowed in defeat. He's fucked up, that's for sure.

"It's been a long day, a long week actually. We should both be heading to bed," Johnny says. He's fucked up, he's truly fucked up if this is how Johnny is reacting. Not a single comment or acknowledgement. He's letting Mark off easy, shooting down confrontation with a coup de grâce of sorts.

Johnny pulls his hand away from where they're still connected, and Mark's heart goes with him.

Mark is twenty-three years old when he experiences true heartbreak in more than one way.

> _Baby I'm thinking it over  
>  What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start  
>  What if it only gets colder  
>  Would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart  
>  Cause lately I've been scared of even thinking 'bout where we are  
>  What if I never even see you cause we're both on a stage  
>  Don't tell me listen to your song because it isn't the same  
>  I don't wanna say your love is a waiting game_

"It's bad, I know," Mark admits, nervously scrubbing a hand over his cheek. His throat is a little raw from the way he had rapped the verse. "To be honest, I wrote it instead of sleeping."

He doesn't dare look up, too afraid of what he'll see. He keeps his gaze cast towards the page where the lyrics are messily jotted down. There are almost a dozen variations of the same words crossed out and rewritten across six pages.

Like a showreel unravelling before them, his internal monologue has been narrated. He had penned everything down, effectively pinning himself in a spot with no place to hide. Bare, raw, exposed — everything is now cracked open for the world to see.

Mark would rather have the rest of the world be his audience than it be Johnny.

He exhales a shaky breath, bottom lip trembling and he has to bite down on it to stop it. He hesitantly chances a glance when Johnny doesn't answer. Johnny has an unreadable expression blanketing his face, foreign and indecipherable. It's moments like this Mark wishes he had Taeyong's adept for reading emotions hidden behind neutral expressions.

Johnny blinks, leaning back into his chair with a thoughtful look on his face, expression flickering to something Mark recognizes. Awe.

"No," Johnny simply says. His jaw momentarily drops slightly, lips forming around silent syllables as he gathers his thoughts. "That was... that was good, Mark. I just— I'm at a loss for words."

"Good?"

"I mean, it was fucking incredible. I haven't heard you rap like that in a long time."

"I'm pretty sure I released a single like four months ago," Mark says dryly, masking his hurt with sarcasm.

"I know, and that song was good, but that's not what I meant. I just haven't seen you rap like that in person in a long time." _Not since their final single, not since their last performances together_ , Mark thinks he hears. "It's raw, and absolutely visceral. I guess I've just never heard you sound so emotionally driven before."

"Oh," Mark presses his lips into a firm line, hoping it resembles a smile. It's all he can muster.

"I'm thinking the title should be 'Waiting Game'," Johnny suggests.

"Why that?" Mark frowns. It doesn't sound like the best title. In a way, it undermines the lyrics to call it a game, it only makes light of what the song is trying to convey. It's never been a game to Mark, there's no fun, no reward, no conclusive ending.

"It's in the lyrics, right? Unless you have something better."

"Ah, right," Mark nods. He had spent way too much too thinking up a proper name for the song only to come up with nothing. "No, I've got nothing."

"You know," Johnny starts, a light lilt to his voice, "you should do it."

"I'm sorry, do what?"

"Rap that verse yourself," Johnny offers.

"Like on the album?" Mark's throat goes dry.

"Where else? You deserve more recognition than just a writing credit."

"Several writing credits, actually," Mark pointedly corrects. His name will be tied to all six songs of the album. "I'm fine with it, thanks."

The suggestion only digs him a deeper grave, and Mark has already buried himself.

"There're so many other people vying to be featured on your album, and you're asking me? We were in a group together for like seven years, maybe you should give someone else a chance."

"I'm not going to force you to do it if you don't want to," Johnny reaches for Mark's wrist, index finger running along the jut of bone there, "but I don't think I nor anyone else would be able to do that verse justice."

It takes all his willpower not to recoil from the touch. He exhales a shaky breath in the guise of a chuckle, it gets cut short by Johnny enveloping his hand on top of his. Johnny maneuvers Mark's hand away from where it's resting on the mouse to clasp his other hand on the underside of Mark's hand.

For the first time in years, Johnny holds his hand. His fingers grow cold, in his other hand, tucked to the side out of Johnny's sight, his nails dig into his palm.

"Please?" Johnny pleads, voice soft as he cradles Mark's hand between his own. "Do it for me?"

It's a rule that he made for himself, Mark rarely writes from experience. When he does, he spills from the edges, bursting at the seams with everything he has to offer. He reserves such feelings for his own music, but even then he's never fully truthful. He keeps lyrics like this on his own tongue, never once offering anyone else his feelings when he knows they will never quite understand the true weight of the words.

Right now, he's torn. As much as he wants it to be himself than anyone else or Johnny — especially not Johnny — these lyrics weigh too much for even himself.

Despondent, Mark relents. He squeezes Johnny's hand, "Only for you, hyung."

"Great," Johnny warmly smiles. "We're almost done, anything else we need to go over for 'Warm Water'?"

"The song or the album?"

"Both, I suppose."

"No." _Yes_. He wants to scrap the entirety of 'Waiting Game', and pretend it doesn't exist. But the sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can pretend it doesn't matter.

"Good, this album is going to be fucking amazing," Johnny excitedly exclaims.

Mark finds that he's not as excited.

It's finished.

A weight has been lifted, he's done his part for 'Warm Water', it's now out of his hands and out of his control.

Which means Johnny gets swept away by a packed schedule of filming, recording, and practice. Reluctantly, Mark admits to himself that he misses Johnny a lot more than he thought he would. They text each other often, Johnny is cryptic about what he's doing, but that's understandable. Mark's part on this project is done, and he knows as much as he's privy to.

He should be relieved by his newfound free time, but part of him still feels an incessant weight dragging him down.

The waiting between finishing a project and seeing it received by other people is one of the most nerve wracking things Mark has never gotten used to. Even with constant reassurances by everyone else who has also worked on the project, he still finds himself anxiously anticipating public reception.

He shouldn't need to seek validation, he loves his craft, he loves the music he creates, otherwise he wouldn't be putting it out.

Stupidly, he sends a copy of the album to Taeyong.

"Did you get the files?" Mark puts his phone on speaker while he goes through his evening skincare routine.

" _Yeah, I listened to them earlier today,_ " Taeyong says.

"Thoughts?"

There's a pause that seems too long. He pats the moisturizer into his skin more as something to do than a necessity while his stomach makes an unsettling flip as he waits for Taeyong's answer.

" _When are you sending them in?_ " Taeyong asks, caution in his voice.

"Last Friday."

He stayed late at the studio until everything on his end was completed. Much of his night was actually spent staring at the songs, finger hovering over the 'send' button as he debated whether or not he was happy with what he had done. The second the email goes out, production will progress forward. It's not like he isn't allowed to make any revisions, but it's a hassle and will set the schedule back. What's done is done, and he's not looking back.

" _Last Friday?!_ " Taeyong exclaims, there's a sound of something metallic clattering, " _Does he know?_ "

"Hyung, are you okay?"

" _I'm fine, it was just a spoon. So does he know?_ "

"Does who know what?" Mark says, feigning innocence.

" _Don't try to dodge the question, Mark,_ " Taeyong groans, frustration rising in his voice, " _Does Johnny know that the lyrics of 'Waiting Game' are about him? About you two?_ "

Mark doesn't answer. He taps some eye cream carefully under his eyes.

Taeyong sigh, " _Mark, why hadn't you sent the songs to me before you sent them in?_ "

"Cause I knew how you would react," he explains. He's been dreading this conversation for days now, it's the reason why he didn't send Taeyong the songs until after he was finished. "You'd tell me that this is a bad idea and make me change the song."

" _Because it is a bad idea! You're only going to hurt yourself more because of this,_ " Taeyong's voice softens, " _I'm assuming he doesn't know._ "

"No, and he never will."

'Warm Water' is slated to drop at 6 PM. Autumn daylight fades quickly, and his day zips by without him noticing it. By the time Mark gets home, he has a few spare minutes before the album's release.

Preemptively, he connects his phone to his bluetooth speaker in the living room before he busies himself by heating up leftover gamjatang and rice. He changes into his most comfortable pair of Roots sweats, and by the time he has his dinner set out on the kitchen table, he gets a notification for the music video.

The video opens with a scene framed by various plants in a tiled room flooded with water, lit by cyan and magenta neon lights. It reminds him of 'The 7th Sense' if Mark squints, different colour palette, higher budget, a little vaporwave in its aesthetics.

In the centre of the set, there's a clawfoot bathtub with water overflowing it in a constant stream, not at all relenting. Johnny is sitting in the tub, white button down shirt soaked through with water, and hair slicked back, wet. His makeup seems untouched by the water, flawless, dewy, and the gemstones under his eyes glint when Johnny turns his head in certain angles.

If Mark is going to die by choking on his food, this might be the moment. There are scenes of Johnny dancing with three inches of water splashing at his feet and rain falling inside the studio with a backdrop that looks like it's melting with the rain. Post-production effects of a vertical dripping glitch effect occasionally makes an appearance as if the screen has suffered some water damage or something.

Highly aquatic, that's the theme, it's even reflected in the choreography: watery and fluid. Johnny and his backup dancers move with a sense of practiced elegance and grace, together as a single entity like a pool of water, or separately like sporadically falling raindrops. It's different, everything about this is different, starkly contrasting all the hard hitting choreography they used to do. Yet his body moves in a way that Mark would recognize in a heartbeat if he were to only see his silhouette.

All of Johnny's outfits are made from lightweight fabrics — chiffons, satins, mesh — everything that shouldn't be soaked in water. His shirts are loose, tucked into tight pants that emphasize his long legs. Even the red cape suit he adorns moves fluidly, its sleeves seemingly floating with his movements.

Everything about the video is so aesthetically pleasing. There's plenty of b-roll and glamour shots to balance the choreography, and like many of the music videos they've shot in the past, there's very little plot.

By the end of the music video, Mark is speechless and so incredibly proud.

Johnny has done a lot in his life, but this might be Mark's favourite thing he's done. Even if he takes his own involvement out of the equation, it's still his favourite thing. It might be one of the first things Johnny has done that truly showcases his full artistic expression, finally letting the world know his true capabilities and as he stretches his skills to the limit.

In a way, Mark is proud of himself too, less so than he is of Johnny but he's pleased. Despite having received the final versions of the songs weeks ago, he's pleasantly surprised by how the title track turned out. This might not be the best project he's worked on, but he knows it's different from what he usually puts out. Mark thinks his music style is adequately diverse, but this is a music style he's always wanted to try, completely out of his comfort zone but still recognizably his work.

It fits Johnny so well. He's glad that out of all the people in the world to breathe life into this, it had been Johnny.

The album plays as background noise as he eats dinner. It's been a few weeks since he has last heard the tracks. He's so incredibly proud of Johnny, of himself, of _them_. Them, together, this is the most together they have been since—

'Waiting Game' plays. Its haunting melody sends a chill through him, suddenly, he no longer wants to listen to the album, his dinner has lost its appeal. He makes no move to turn the music off, letting it play. Mark hangs onto this irrational idea that somehow the song will be different this time. It's not. It's as raw, and unfiltered, unbidden with all the same emotions as he had last heard it.

It shakes him to the core, he has to take a calming breath or two. He's not going to cry, not now. He managed to hold it together in front of Johnny, managed to hold it together during his recording session, managed to hold it in as he listened to the final product weeks ago. Not now, not ever.

The song finally ends, feeling as if it had dragged on twice as long as its actual duration time. His head is filled with a crooked groaning noise, thoughts muddled together like white noise, not at all comforting. All he wants is silence, but he realizes that dissonant sound is coming from his speaker, phone moving to play the next song.

That's strange, Mark had only written six songs.

'Home', it reads on the music app, the real last song of the album.

There's something familiar in its compositional style, he's heard something similar before. After churning through several names in his head, none of them fit the profile. It becomes an itch that needs to be satisfied, puzzled, he pulls up Johnny's official Twitter in search for the track list graphic.

After scrolling through the dozens of concept photos of Johnny looking devastatingly gorgeous, he finds the tweet.

Johnny's vocals are huskier here, a little strained with an underlying emotion that pulls something deep within him. Overwhelmingly heartbreaking, the hurt and pain floods him all at once, drenching him in a chill that makes him numb. Each wave pulls a piece of him apart, exposing the carefully layered walls he's put up.

The chorus is pleading and desperate as if it's personally asking Mark something that he doesn't have an answer to.

> _Just keep wishing you'll come out but you don't  
>  You are something I should do without, but I won't  
>  Please tell me that this could be easy  
>  I'm tired of waiting for permission to love  
>  Heartbreak is your game, but I'm learning  
>  My heart could be yours, won't you make it your home?_

He feels like he's been knocked over, and swept under riptide, not knowing when he'll surface. Even as the song ends, he's more shaken than he was listening to 'Waiting Game'. He doesn't know what the song has struck in him, but it brings out that familiar heartache Mark has only ever experienced once: watching Johnny break during the encore of their final concert.

Under the credits of the song, he reads the name. Reads it again for good measure, it must be a typo, he's surely seeing things. A trick in the light maybe, refracting oddly through the thin layer of tears he's not willing to let fall.

No, it's there. The name of the person he least expects is listed as one of the composers.

Johnny's album does well. It does _really_ fucking well.

Johnny is trending on Naver, and all the songs are snatching various spots in the top 20 charts on all the music sites. 'Warm Water' stubbornly doesn't leave the number one position for _days_. It's scary how well that song is performing, even if Mark had been more confident of its success, he didn't think it would take residence on Melon's roof.

It's not that Mark didn't believe the album could do well, he did, he just didn't think it would do as well as the numbers say it is. He has nothing but pride and satisfaction, soaring high in his heart as the album becomes a hot topic.

Mark knows the process, the hours spent filming and recording, being ushered around from studio to studio by staff members, and the sleep lost in favour of practicing choreography. It all became worth it in the end. Every achievement Johnny earns is well deserved, obtained by the hours of hard work put into this debut.

It's been a few years in the making, Johnny had told him, he's been wanting to release an album for a long time. It was one of the first things he wanted to do when he signed with his current agency. Fear, apprehension, and so much anxiety hindered this project from being realized.

NCT 127 found success as a group, supported by fans who may have preferences for one member or another, but still supported the group as a whole. Musical solo endeavours are wildcards, who knows how well one of them would do by themselves. Mark shared that sentiment, so did Donghyuck, and Taeyong, and everyone else who's had the chance with a solo debut.

There's a reason why Johnny had reached out to him.

("I'm glad I asked you," Johnny says as they listen to what they have finished. "I was so scared of doing this, but I knew you would be the best person to help me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, you having more experience is one reason, but we also work well together. We always have," he reminisces. "You bring me back down when my head is in the clouds, you know," Mark doesn't, "I guess I needed someone to hold my hand through this and I wanted it to be you."

Hold his hand. Metaphorically, Mark has to remind himself.

"And I guess," Johnny breathily laughs, a little flustered, "I missed you."

Mark finds himself at a loss for words. He's missed Johnny too, of course, no matter how hard he's tried to push Johnny away. It had been a stupid thing to do, now that he thinks about it. Just because he kissed Johnny once doesn't mean their friendship was over, Johnny didn't seem particularly disturbed by it either.

Johnny continues when Mark doesn't respond, "You know I texted you a while ago asking if you were free for a new project. You didn't reply."

Guilt cuts deep, deeper than it's ever had. He's part of the problem, he's one of the reasons why Johnny had been holding back.

"Eventually I just had my company contact you," Johnny remarks, amused, "It's good to know that your lack of response was because you changed your number."

Guilty, he's so fucking guilty.)

Walking through the halls of Music Core feels like a forgotten memory, feverish like its hot pink walls. Mark lets his legs carry him by pure muscle memory until he stops short of his destination.

This is stupid, he shouldn't be here, but he is here with a tray of iced americanos in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other. It's probably too late now that he's come this far, so he knocks on the dressing room door before he peaks his head in. There's a few staff members milling around that throw him a questioning look but otherwise they seem unbothered by his visit. He slides into the room quietly, and finds Johnny sitting in one of the makeup chairs with his phone in his hand and earphones in, not yet taken notice of Mark's presence.

Mark sets the items down on a nearby table before he makes his way to where Johnny is. He puts a firm hand on Johnny's shoulder, startling him. Johnny shoots him a look through the mirror before turning to look at him like he doesn't believe Mark is here.

"Holy shit, you scared me."

"Sorry," Mark apologetically grins, "didn't mean to."

"What are you doing here?" Johnny asks, taking out his earphones and placing them on the vanity in front of him.

"I thought I'd swing by and show some support."

"You've shown plenty of support already," Johnny chuckles.

"Aight, I'mma just leave then," Mark bristles, going to retrieve the food he brought, "I'll be taking the coffee and danishes I bought with me."

"No, don't leave," Johnny childishly whines. "Wait— is that Paris Baguette?"

"Yes, and it's all mine now," he sticks his tongue out. He holds the items close to his body as if he's actually claiming them, watching as Johnny cutely pouts. He feigns, placing them on an empty spot of the vanity, "Alright, fine you can have them. But share some with your staff."

"You're treating me like I'm five," Johnny snorts.

"You're four at best."

"Four and a half," Johnny reasons, Mark only shakes his head.

"How has your first week been?"

"It's been great, still feels weird to be promoting alone though."

Mark wants to tell him he'll eventually get used to it, but that would be a lie. Three years promoting as a solo artist still feels so lonely compared to promoting in large numbers. Johnny has a few dancers with him for his performances, but even then the waiting room gets eerily quiet at times. There's fewer staff members too. It's a little jarring to say the least, a lot of things are the same, but most things aren't.

"It's different, but at least it's quiet at times."

"That part is nice," Johnny agrees. "But it makes me miss us."

Mark doesn't ask what Johnny means by _us_.

October turns out to be a lot lacklustre than he originally thought it was going to be. He has a few projects going on, nothing of urgency, working on them at a leisurely pace. He's actually ahead of his projected schedule, which earns him way too much free time on his days off.

Trying to kill time, he starts going to the gym more when he's not lazing around at home and has even considered picking up a new hobby. Donghyuck has also managed to convince him to play a few games of some MOBA he's been hooked on. Mark has never been much of a gamer, so it's no surprise to learn that he's truly awful at this one particular game, more so than all the other games Donghyuck had gotten him to play.

("Hyung, you'll only get better if you practice," Donghyuck lightly encourages.

"Sorry, what were you saying? I was too busy uninstalling the game," Mark lamely responds.

"You didn't even try!" Donghyuck exasperates.)

Sicheng's drama has become his favoured fixation. Miraculously, Johnny is more than ahead of him despite his hectic schedule. Waiting rooms have found their purpose, Mark supposes, there isn't much to do when you don't have members to goof off with, and staff members only provide so much conversational banter while maintaining professionality before it gets repetitive.

Mark makes the mistake of telling Johnny that he's been slowly weaving through the episodes over the last few weeks, because now Johnny is gently coaxing him to watch it with him when he's not busy.

 **johnny** [4:02 pm]  
mark  
MARK  
DUDE YOU DONT UNDERSTAND  
i need to talk to someone abt this

 **mark** [4:02 pm]  
i have like  
12 eps??? until i'm caught up

 **johnny** [4:03 pm]  
i'm behind too but  
that's ok i'm willing to rewatch some eps with you  
JUST PLEASE

Mark softly laughs, imagining the pout Johnny would give him if he was in front of Mark.

 **mark** [4:03 pm]  
okayyyy  
when are you free?

 **johnny** [4:04 pm]  
i'm done promotions on sunday :D

His days have truly blurred together, he hadn't realized how fast four weeks has gone by. It's already November, and Johnny is almost done with promotions with three — _three!_ — music show wins under his belt. Mark had nearly blacked out when his first win was announced, and subsequently a similar reaction occurred each time.

 **mark** [4:04 pm]  
yo forreal??  
already???

 **johnny** [4:04 pm]  
sadly :(  
so you busy?

 **mark** [4:04 pm]  
noooo?

 **johnny** [4:05 pm]  
cool  
your place at 6?  
i'll come over after i'm done w inkigayo

 **mark** [4:05 pm]  
sure haha  
but only if you get the snacks

On Friday, he still meets up with Taeyong at their favourite café in Gangnam for lunch. Taeyong raises him a judgmental frown as Mark orders an iced choco in the midst of autumn.

"It's seven degrees out," Mark argues. It's by no means frigid out, but the rain does make it feel a little colder than it really is. He has no intentions of enjoying his iced choco outside anyway, the shop is comfortably warm, bordering on unbearable in his opinion.

"Seven degrees," Taeyong breathily laughs, "usually people order hot drinks when it dips below ten, but I get it, it's a Canadian thing."

"Hyung, you know Seoul gets colder than Vancouver," he rationalizes. Taeyong disapprovingly shakes his head anyway.

Lunch is pleasant. They chat over avocado and egg toast, and a shared slice of sweet potato cake as a decadent treat. The second floor of the café is uncharacteristically empty, the city moving sluggishly as the rain makes everyone indoor-bound and lethargic. Right now, he should be curled up in a fluffy blanket on his living room couch if he didn't enjoy the lunch dates he has with Taeyong so much.

Music fills the empty silences between sentences, the café's playlist is tuned to recent releases of the month. Right now, Heize's sultry vocals atmospherically fit a rainy autumn afternoon in a cozy café. The song ends, shuffling to another charting song, this time Johnny's vocals greet them, startling Mark mid-sentence. Taeyong seems to take note too, pausing as they take a moment to listen to the song.

"He's doing well, isn't he?" Taeyong comments, cutting another piece of the cake with his fork. "You did a great job with the album, Mark."

"Thanks, hyung," he smiles wryly, absentmindedly tracing the raised grain of the wooden table with a finger as he grapples his thoughts together cohesively.

Confrontation is terrifying, he's been wanting to broach this topic for weeks. He has considered leaving it, but the opportunity has presented itself. He raises Taeyong a determined look, "Didn't you have a hand with the album too?"

"Yes, that's correct." Taeyong doesn't look all too surprised, as if he's been prepared for this question.

"Even though I said I wanted to do it myself. It's just… don't take this the wrong way, hyung. I'm not saying this to be like defensive or even greedy? I guess. I just want to know why?"

Taeyong licks his lips, hesitant, he looks out the window as if he'll find the answer outside. He turns back to Mark after a second, "Johnny wanted to write a song himself. He only asked me for some help on the more technical stuff in production that he couldn't do himself."

"That's all?"

"On my end, yes," Taeyong levels his gaze with his, "Look, Mark. I don't think I'm in the right position to say anything, you should talk to him about this yourself."

Fuck, that's the last thing he wanted to do.

Outside, autumn rain floods the streets of Seoul. The city still moves forward, he's been trying too.

Lazy Saturdays get him antsy, he wakes up at nine in an attempt to get some writing done. After spending a good portion of his morning penning a song, he makes himself lunch. He scrolls through Twitter as he waits for his pasta water to boil.

He considers himself a subpar home chef. He has improved immensely, a little less disastrous than he used to be, and he's at least able to work through a recipe of pantry pasta without much hazard. It's a skill that comes with living alone, he supposes, but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss the home cooked meals their dorm auntie used to cook them, and his own skills can't compare to his mom's.

There's a peculiar tweet that Johnny's Twitter account had retweeted, an interview that catches his attention mid-scroll: _Johnny on Writing 'Warm Water' EP, Going Solo & More_.

He clicks through the link, Johnny's face immediately greeting him. The interviewer is off screen, a disembodied female voice who is asking the typical questions that these sorts of interviews entail. Mark listens passively as he prepares his lunch, only stopping when he hears his own name.

_"You worked with both Mark and Taeyong on this album, what was it like working with them after so many years?"_

_"Surreal, really. We had all gone our separate ways, and I never thought I would ever get a chance to work with either of them again, at least not on music. So when the opportunity arose, I had to jump on it," Johnny explains, there's true excitement to his words, even with the album complete, he's still enthusiastic about getting to work with Mark. And Taeyong, Mark reminds himself._

_"You had reached out to them first?"_

_"That's correct. I had actually asked Mark first. The song I wrote with Taeyong had been an afterthought, I wanted to write it myself but I needed some help and to be honest," Johnny sheepishly laughs, "I didn't want to bother Mark more than I already had."_

It wouldn't have been a bother. This whole ordeal between him and Johnny had recently thrown his life down a strange spiral, but he's content with where they are right now. He's content to have Johnny back in his life, even if it means he's got some moving on to do. He thinks it's been going great so far—

_"Is there a particular song that is your favourite?"_

_"Gosh," Johnny rubs a hand against his jeans as he thoughtfully hums, "I suppose it's a tie between 'Waiting Game' and 'Home'," he nods certain of his answer. "I feel like you can't separate those two songs."_

_"Oh? Why is that?" the interviewer presses, audibly perking up at the opportunity to dig deeper._

_"Putting it simply, the two songs are different sides of the same coin. If you look at only one of the songs, it's an incomplete story, and that's why I like these two songs. It makes it distinct from all the other songs on the album, I mean all the songs are distinct in their own way, but the concept of a story told in two songs is unique."_

_"Care to explain this story?"_

_"Well… 'Waiting Game' for example, is about someone who wants more from a relationship that has been nothing more than ambiguous and uncertain. They're afraid of wanting more than they already have, afraid of losing what they have. It becomes a bit of a waiting game between them, and there's no knowing what will happen. Instead of pushing forward, they push away from the other person because they're afraid of taking the chance."_

Mark's heart plunges, maybe it's not going great. That is exactly what the song means, exactly how he had written it, exactly what their relationship is. Johnny had seen right through his lyrics, and he can't help but wonder if he had seen through him too.

_"On the other hand, 'Home' is somewhat of an answer to 'Waiting Game' from the other person's perspective. This person is equally as reluctant, but they can see how much the other person loves them, that they are aware of the other person's feelings for them. The only thing stopping them is the fact that the other person has been pushing them away, which creates an even greater sense of ambiguity between them. So this song is a response saying it's okay to love them, that they can work, and that they're not going to lose what they have because—" Johnny hesitates, voice wavering slightly, "because they love them back."_

Mark's head swirls, flooded by sudden a revelation he can't quite piece together. Johnny doesn't know, it's nothing more than a coincidence. 'Home' isn't an actual answer to Mark's feelings, it's just a song, and maybe Johnny wanted to have fun with a two-part story. Mark has done something similar himself, connecting two of his title tracks as a narrative from different perspectives.

It's just a coincidence.

Glitter is a menace to remove. It's a wonder how Johnny has been able to deal with all the glitter-heavy makeup looks he's been sporting these last four weeks.

Mark watches Johnny's goodbye stage live from the comfort of his couch, today there's a smattering of purple-pink chunky diamond-shaped glitter on Johnny's cheekbones, which coordinates with the frilly purple chiffon shirt of his stage outfit.

There isn't much to do between now and the supposed time Johnny is coming over, so he occupies himself with one of the novels he had bought from Kyobo earlier in the week. After browsing the store's endless aisles for what felt like hours, he ended up with a haul of more books than he's capable of finishing before the end of the year.

Out of sheer boredom, he's made some significant progress through the novel, gained a good chunk of new Korean vocabulary that has now all been noted down in his phone for future songwriting reference.

By the time Johnny arrives with two bags of snacks in tow, the sun has set. The eccentric makeup Johnny had on early has been thoroughly removed, now he just looks cozy in his teddy hoodie and jeans.

"Jesus Christ dude, when I said bring snacks, I didn't mean an entire convenience store," Mark comments.

"Actually, I got us some actual food," Johnny holds the plastic bag up as he sets the tote bag on the coffee table, "because I'm starving, and cuttlefish chips aren't gonna cut it."

"But you did get cuttlefish chips right?" Mark curiously peaks into the bag.

"Hell yeah. Who do you take me for?"

"What did you even get anyway?"

"Some combo with pad thai and green curry, and a few sides," Johnny starts pulling the boxes of food out of the bag, arranging them neatly on the coffee table, "It's a lot of food, so I'm hoping you're actually hungry."

"Well if I wasn't before, I am now because that," Mark salivates, god, he loves pad thai and green curry, "smells fucking delicious."

"Good," Johnny chuckles. "But first, can you get us some bowls?"

With the food laid out, and his laptop connected to the television, they settle into a comfortable silence as they watch the drama. Admittedly, it took almost ten episodes for him to get into the drama, and Sicheng had only made brief appearances here and there. By the current episode they're watching, Sicheng's role has become more pivotal to the story, and regardless of Mark's original intention of watching this drama — Sicheng, it's just Sicheng — the storyline has him hooked.

The take out gets absolutely cleaned off while the bag of snacks lay on the coffee table untouched. He's too stuffed to eat anymore, no matter how appealing cuttlefish chips may have seemed earlier.

They binge through four episodes, only stopping to clear the trash in between bathroom breaks and light stretching. It's a little past ten when they decide to call it a night.

"God, we didn't even get to the part that's literally set the internet on fire," Johnny frustratedly groans.

"Should I be concerned?" Mark eyes him as the other man sinks down in his seat.

"Absolutely. Prepare yourself for a world of hurt, we're in the long haul baby."

"Why would you tell me that," he scolds. Now he's itching to know.

"It's not like I spoiled anything!" Johnny defends. "Oh, also before I forget," he digs through the tote bag until he finds the item he's looking for, "I'm not sure if you have a copy, but I wanted to give one to you in person."

Johnny pulls out a copy of his album, unwrapped but pristine, Mark can only assume Johnny had jokingly signed it. It's a striking turquoise colour, a minimal design on both the cover and back with holographic lettering all compacted into the size akin to an A5 notebook.

"Oh, I actually don't. Thanks," Mark graciously accepts it. In his hands is solid proof that these last several months have been real, but it's no more proof than Johnny sitting right next to him, present and so very real.

"I should be thanking you. This album wouldn't have happened without you," Johnny sincerely thanks.

"Again with the directed praise?" Mark laughs, "You know better than anyone else that I'm not the only person who worked on this."

"Well obviously, I helped as much as I could," Johnny deadpans. Mark lightly punches his shoulder, it's more of a tap than anything. Johnny dramatically winces, "Ow! What was that for!"

"You should take your own words to heart, hyung. Take credit where it's deserved, you practically wrote half the album yourself. And you were great help in more ways than you think," Mark implies, not delving into how Johnny had been his muse for a whole song. He rubs a nervous hand along his neck, this might be the opportunity to bring it up. "Also… Taeyong hyung helped too."

"He did."

"You know," he starts, not quite sure where he wants to go, "I saw an interview you did the other day. You said you wanted to write a song yourself, and I understand that, but I wouldn't have been bothered at all if you came to me, I love working with you. I mean, I know Taeyong hyung has his own skill sets different from mine, so I guess it's fair you sought him out."

He sees the moment Johnny realizes which interview he was talking about, there's a flicker of startled panic across his face before it falls into something unreadable.

"It's not that I didn't think you were incapable of helping me or that I thought I was bothering you, it's more than that," Johnny confesses. "I just wanted to write this myself, and I only went to Taeyong because I didn't want you to know about this song until I was finished."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You mentioned 'Home' was a response to 'Waiting Game', did he say anything to you about it?"

"His involvement in all this was purely technical," Johnny answers, though not quite a direct answer to Mark's question. His words read more than what had been verbally spoken.

"So…" Mark gulps, he doesn't want to say it, but he needs the peace, "do you know why I wrote 'Waiting Game'? What it means."

Of course Johnny knows what it means, he said it all himself in the interview. Mark needs to know if Johnny knows what it actually means, that if Johnny knows that—

"It's about us," it comes out as a mere whisper, wary of the thin ice he's treading.

His chest feels like it's about to explode, heart banging against his rib cage almost painfully like he's about to hyperventilate. Mark wants to curl up like a roly poly and pretend he no longer exists.

"I knew when I heard you rap it the first time," Johnny continues. "I wasn't sure at first, I thought I was reading too much into it but I could hear it in your voice. Even then, I still wasn't sure so I wrote 'Home'."

"Why?" he manages out, voice breaking. He feels like he knows why even before Johnny answers.

"Because if by whatever chance 'Waiting Game' was about me— about _us_ , then you would know how I felt. That's why I wanted to write it myself, that's why I didn't want you to know because if I was wrong, it would have just been another song."

Speechless, Mark is left utterly speechless.

Johnny takes this moment to continue, "Back then, the night after our goodbye concert—" his voice wavers, "when you kissed me, I thought you wanted something more, but then you said you didn't mean to do it, that it was a mistake. I wanted to say something back then but you excused it so I thought it must have been the emotional exhaustion or performance high, or probably both that made you do it."

"I never said it was a mistake. I said I didn't mean to, but I wanted to," Mark chokes, blinking back tears. Mark feels like an absolute dick now, he's pushed Johnny away all these years when all Johnny wanted was—

"I wanted to kiss you back. I wanted to say something sooner, but I wanted to be sure. I didn't want to lose what we had, but I guess that ended up happening anyway."

"No, no, no, hyung," Mark pleadingly interjects, "I'm the one who kissed you, I'm the one who had been passive about it. I don't regret kissing you. I regret the three years I've fucking wasted by not saying anything." Tears fall just as he says, "I regret not telling you I love you sooner."

"You love me?" Johnny looks like he's on the brink of tears now, he looks like he doesn't believe him, even with all that's been said so far, even as he searches Mark's face for any hint of a lie.

"I love you so fucking much." If he didn't, he wouldn't be hurting so much right now, he wouldn't be crying. The pieces are finally sliding together, filling the spaces Mark had so desperately wanted to remain vacant. "You meant everything in the song? Everything you said in your interview?"

"I meant every single word. It's okay to love me because I love you," the final piece slides into place. His heart the most whole it's ever been, but at the same time so very shattered.

"Fuck," Mark curses, doubling over his entire body wracks with a broken sob. He hasn't cried like this in a long time, not since their last concert, and with years of backed up emotions, everything crumbles with a drop of a pin, unravelling all he's bound together as he cries into his own arms, tears dampening his pants.

"God, we're so stupid," it comes out muffled, "why were we so blind, why did we wait so long."

And just like back then, Johnny squeezes his shoulder, before coaxing a soothing hand down his back. "Hey, it's okay, Markie," Johnny laughs wetly. Mark is afraid of what he'll see if he lifts his head. "We've got all the time in the world now. Don't cry, gosh, you're making me cry."

Laughing through tears, Mark reaches blindly to smack Johnny on the leg. He sobs, "Don't say that! You know I'll only cry more."

"Okay, okay. C'mere," Johnny beckons him to look at him with a hand on his nape, Mark does. There's evidence of tears streaking down his face. Johnny takes Mark's face between his hands, wiping at the tears with his thumbs before reaching over to the tissue box to gently dab at the remaining wet spots on his cheeks. "Would you feel better if I kiss you?"

"Maybe," he sniffs, bottom lip trembling just faintly. Johnny chuckles, eyes glazed over with the tears he's holding back, eyelashes damp and Mark wants to kiss away the hurt.

For the first time in three years, Mark kisses Johnny.

And for the first time ever Johnny kisses him back, hands framing his cheeks as gentle as Mark had always thought he would be. His mouth slots perfectly against his, just like everything else that's fallen into place. It's the most gratifying kiss Mark has ever had, delayed by so many years with so much that has happened in those years. The tension finally snapping and melding into the kiss.

"I've always wanted to do that," Johnny breathes, eyes fluttered closed, as he presses his forehead to his. Johnny is trembling a bit, so Mark takes his hands into his, sighing a breath of relief.

"And now," he presses a kiss against Johnny's cheekbone, close to where his tears have trickled down his face, "you can kiss me as much as you'd like."

"Then, come here," Johnny reclaims his mouth, kissing him again with his hands sliding down his sides until they reach his waist. Without parting, Mark rearranges himself on the couch so they're no longer uncomfortably twisting their bodies. He ends up being pulled into Johnny's lap, Mark yelps, winding his arms around Johnny's neck for balance as the other man chuckles between breaths.

Mark could kiss Johnny forever. Mark could kiss Johnny forever but it won't make up for the time that's been lost. Even with Johnny holding him tight, this feels like a far away dream that he'll only wake up from in the morning. As warm and comforted he feels right now, he's afraid that at any second he'll be dunk into the icy bath of reality.

"Hey," Johnny murmurs, drawing him back down to Earth, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"I just can't believe you're here— that _we're_ here," he buries his face into the crook of Johnny's neck, the soft sherpa feels nice against his cheek.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." It sounds like a promise.

Mark raises his head to look at him. Johnny's eyes red rimmed from crying, Mark thinks he's probably no better. "Will you stay the night?"

"Oh, moving fast, huh?" he teases. Mark rolls his eyes, snorting.

"That's not what I meant," Mark scrunches his nose before softening his expression. The words he was so afraid of uttering years ago finally make their way home, "I want you to stay, I want you to be here tomorrow so I know this is real."

"Whether or not I stay, this is so very real, Mark, I'm not going anywhere," he pauses, pressing a kiss to Mark's cheek, "I'll stay only if I get to cuddle you."

Johnny stays with the promise of cuddles, although Mark knows he would have stayed either way.

Just as the sun breaches through the windows of his bedroom, adding to the warmth of the body pressed against his back, Mark stirs awake. Johnny is like a god damn furnace, even in the pair of shorts and t-shirt Mark had lent him.

("Isn't this Jungwoo's?" Johnny holds up the oversized shirt.

"It _was_."

"Why do you have this?"

"He gave it to me," Mark answers.

"So you stole it," Johnny says incredulously.

"He never asked for it back!" Technically, he's not lying.)

It's borderline uncomfortable how hot he is, but Johnny is none the wiser, dead asleep to the world with an arm snuggly fit across Mark's waist, softly snoring away. Mark makes no effort to wiggle out of his hold, but he does try to make himself a little more comfortable by carefully extracting his legs from the tangled covers. After a moment of struggling, he resorts to kicking them off, the relief is instant.

"Baby?" Johnny murmurs, voice catching from the roughness of sleep. If Mark wasn't fully awake before, he is now because _baby_?

"Yeah?" he croaks, frozen in place like an animal that had just sensed danger. There's no danger anywhere, he feels the safest he's ever been, but he's still startled by all of this. He can't believe that this is real, that he's literally in Johnny's arms being spooned and snuggled, and _loved_.

"Time's it?" Johnny asks, stretching his arms.

Mark fumbles for his phone on the nightstand. He blinks, eyes still blurred from sleep, "A little after nine."

"Don't wanna get up," Johnny whines.

"You've worked hard, you should sleep more," he half-mindedly replies, turning to face Johnny.

"Oh, good morning," Johnny greets him with a dopey grin. Mark realizes just how close they are, and Johnny only shuffles closer as he settles his arm back across his waist. "It's fine, I'm wide awake now."

"Well I guess, good morning."

"Still think this isn't real?" he runs his hand along his back, fingers drawing lazy patterns along his back.

"Not sure, maybe you should kiss me."

Johnny does, pressing a tender kiss against his lips. "How about now?"

"Mm, not good enough, I'll need another."

"Now you're just pushing it," Johnny laughs as Mark pouts. "You can get more kisses after breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"I was thinking about raiding your fridge and making us omelettes or something. You have eggs right?"

"Of course I do, but you know you don't have to."

"I want to, come on, let's go wash up," Johnny pats his butt.

Mark's washroom isn't made to fit two grown men but they make do in the space. They get their teeth brushed with Johnny using a spare toothbrush from a set of four Mark had bought out of sheer laziness because repurchasing a new one every few months is too much of a hassle.

Wandering into the kitchen, Johnny gets Mark to start the coffee, while he makes quick work dicing up some onions and bell peppers for their omelettes and sautéing them up before he gets started on the eggs.

The omelettes turn out fluffy, and Mark feels just about the same, warm, fluffy, and so tenderly attended to. God, he's so in love with Johnny that he's comparing himself to food of all things. His brain is nothing but a half-way scrambled pile of eggs, which if he thinks about it, is what an omelette actually is.

Their breakfast gets set out onto the table, and the silence between them is not like the one from yesterday.

Yesterday, it was comfortable. Somehow it feels a little more strange between them today, not quite uncomfortable, but different, a small shift that Mark will need to get used to. Though that could just be because of all that has transpired less than twelve hours ago. It's a big leap going from friends to dating, though Mark isn't sure what they are considering they haven't explicitly talked about it.

Johnny is smiling behind his cup of coffee, casting a gaze his way, and Mark stops mid-chew, "What?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, what is it?"

"It's nothing, really. I just can't help it. I'm so… I don't know? Giddy about all of this," he gestures between them, "I'm really happy you're here."

Without a beat, he deadpans, "I live here."

"Not like that, idiot," Johnny playfully kicks him under the table, "I'm trying to have a moment here."

"Ow, dude! Sorry, have your moment."

"Even when we're," Johnny pauses to contemplate, "dating? We're dating right?"

"We kinda cried our eyes out and told each other 'I love you', so I hope so," Mark flushes, it feels so foreign to acknowledge aloud.

"Even when we're dating, you're still going to call me dude?"

"You're no better than me, let's see you try," Mark argues, accusingly pointing his fork towards him.

"Won't be hard if I start calling you something else," he hums thoughtfully, "honey."

"No."

"Sweetheart?"

"Absolutely not," Mark scrunches his face, it doesn't sound quite right coming from Johnny.

"Kitten?"

"Not that one," Mark sputters, face heating up. "Definitely not that one."

"Do I want to know?" Johnny's lips curl, amused.

"Say it again and you'll find out," he challenges with a huff, kicking him back.

"Fuck, dude!" Johnny gasps.

"See? Not as easy as you thought."

"I will figure out your favoured pet name even if it's the last thing I do on this Earth." Mark doesn't tell him that he already has figured it out. He takes another bite of his eggs, they're a little under-salted but still delicious.

"Hey hyung?" he says after a moment.

"Yes?"

"I'm really happy you're here too."

Mark doesn't know what's next. He's dated a few people long enough to have a steady relationship, but this seems like a different start. Not just a different start in a romantic relationship, but also a different start with Johnny. None of his past relationships have started with years of pining, and none of them had transpired into a dramatic sequence of events involving years of separation, heartfelt lyrics, and belated confessions.

But he's content with where they are right now, in a bit of a limbo, uncaring of what happens around them as long as it is just them. He's content with just kissing Johnny on the couch, chasing his lips like he's chasing lost time until they're both breathless and his head spins.

"Baby?" Johnny murmurs, as Mark presses butterfly kisses down his jaw.

"Hm?"

"Ah, baby, it is then."

"I like that, I like it when you call me baby," Mark confesses, cheeks burning as it spreads to his ears too. He buries his face in the crook of Johnny's neck, breathing in the faint fragrance of his own shower gel on his skin.

Johnny coaxes him to look at him with a hand on his jaw. He's so beautiful, lying on the couch looking at him with all the wonder in the world, he's always been so beautiful. Mark wants to worship every part of him, piece by piece until he runs out of things to adore. Then he'll do it again. And again, and again, and again. He'll do it a hundred times over with his mouth murmuring praises against his skin.

He presses an open mouthed kiss along Johnny's neck, teeth grazing his skin.

"You claimed your intentions were innocent when you asked me to stay the night, what happened to that?" Johnny chuckles, breath hot against his ear.

"Whatever do you mean?" he feigns, eyelashes fluttering. Johnny gets a firm grip on his hips, pulling him forward until his half-chub is pressed against the other man's hips. The friction is delicious, he can't help the moan that escapes. It breaks the illusion of innocence he's managed to keep up.

"I can't help that I get riled up when I make out with people!" he defends. "I'm still keeping my word."

"What if I didn't want you to keep your word?" Johnny smooths a hand down his back stopping short just above the curve of his ass. His fingertips trace the stripe of exposed skin there, not quite delving under his shirt but edging close.

"And I'm the one who's moving fast?"

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he says, understanding in his voice. God, what did Mark do to deserve him.

"I want it, I want it so bad, hyung," Mark breathes. "Take me to bed?"

Sunlight has thoroughly warmed his laundered sheets, and it feels like a warm embrace that envelops him on all sides as Johnny settles on top of him, kissing down his now bare chest. He catches a nipple between his lips and Mark arches his back as his tongue laps at the sensitive bud until it stands perky and erect.

Johnny continues down the length of his torso, stopping at his sleep pants to pull them along with his briefs off. He leans back, gaze raking over Mark's naked form as if he's trying to decide how he's going to unravel him.

"So pretty," Johnny slides his hand down his chest, fingertips tracing the light definition of muscle of his abdomen. Mark internally thanks his past self for working out more again, not that he really cares what Johnny thinks, but the extra attention makes him feel proud of the work he's put in.

He keens at the praise, it's nothing more than a simple comment but he loves that it's coming from Johnny.

"What do you want, baby?"

"Anything," Mark answers.

"Anything?" Johnny raises a brow with a sly grin. Mark doesn't know what that implies, but it sends an excited buzz tingling through his body. He's not sure if he's ready for whatever Johnny has in store for him, at least not today.

"Just touch me, please?" he requests, and Johnny does.

Johnny trails a finger down his stomach to where his cock lays heavily, and curls his hand around the length to give it a few strokes. It's a little too rough for Mark's liking, but he doesn't get a chance to protest when Johnny ducks down, taking the head between his lips. Mark startles a moan, knees drawing up and toes curling at the sudden sensation.

Johnny laps at the tip with his tongue, and alternates it with suckling at the head between his lips. Mark's entire body feels like it's been set on fire, hotter than it's been all morning, and it only gets hotter as Johnny takes the length past his lips.

"Fuck, okay," Mark rasps, fingers pushing through Johnny's hair to get his fringe out of his eyes as he works Mark's length. Fuck, he knew Johnny had some pretty lips fit for sucking dick, but he never knew he would actually be good at it. "Not what I was expecting."

Johnny pulls off, a thick glob of saliva slicks down his cock, he catches it with his fingers and uses it to stroke Mark off. He licks his lips, "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know," Mark reaches to grasp at Johnny's t-shirt (which is really Mark's t-shirt that used to be Jungwoo's t-shirt. That's a weird thing to think about right now). He tugs at the shirt, urging Johnny closer and helps him take it off, chucking it as far away as possible. "I know Jungwoo probably doesn't remember that shirt, but it does not feel right to have you wearing it right now."

"Then why didn't you lend me one of your shirts?" Johnny laughs, kissing him tenderly.

"Because," Mark gasps against his mouth as Johnny's clothed erection slides against his, "because, you're freakin' massive and I don't have anything that fits you."

The shorts are tight on him too, his thigh muscles close to straining against the material if they're flexed a certain way. Johnny had almost slept without pants, and that would have only been a catalyst to _this_ so much earlier. Mark hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear, and pulls it off along with the shorts.

They break apart long enough for Johnny to wrangle the articles off and discard them off the edge of the bed. His mouth returns, filthy and open mouthed this time.

Mark lets his legs fall open a little wider as Johnny settles on top of him with both hands braced by his head. Mark takes their lengths into his hand, pumping them the best he can with the grip he has of their combined girths. Johnny is thick, and he would be lying if he doesn't want his cock inside of him.

Johnny moves his hips back, sliding his cock against his and the friction is absolutely delicious, sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He fucks into Mark's hand, pre-come and saliva making the slide easy. Balancing on one arm, Johnny takes a hand and wraps it around their cocks, fingers overlapping with Mark's to tighten the grip. Mark feels his own thighs shake, it's too much too quick, and he feels dizzy.

"Shit, hyung, hyung— _Johnny_ ," Mark gasps, "wait, stop!"

"What's wrong?"

"'S a lot. Gonna come."

"That's kinda the whole point," Johnny says dryly.

"Not before you fuck me," he's still shaking.

Johnny regards him for a second, "Are you sure?"

"So fuckin' sure."

"You know we don't have to do it that way—"

"John, for fuck's sake," Mark hisses, locking his legs behind Johnny's back to pull him closer. Johnny yelps, eyes wide. "I used to finger myself thinking about your dick in our dorm's shower, if you make me wait any longer, I will kick your ass out."

"Used to?" he blinks, quirking a brow. Of all things that could pique Johnny's interest, it had to be that.

Mark groans, "You really think I've been jerking off to someone who I thought was unobtainable for the last three years?"

"That's fair," Johnny chuckles, gaze darkening as his mouth curls into a wicked grin. "But I have thought about you, and I'm gonna make sure you think of me the next time you touch yourself. I'm gonna make sure, I'm all you can think about _now_ ," he says, thrusting his hips forward into their grip. It startles a moan out of him, more desperate than he's willing to admit.

"Oh god," Mark rasps.

"Where's your lube?"

"Bottom drawer," he jerks his chin to the night stand to their right.

While Johnny retrieves the lube and a condom, Mark turns over onto his front, chest pressed against the bed with his back bowed and ass up.

"Shit, I knew you had an ass, but I didn't think you had an _ass_ ," Johnny comments, sounding almost impressed.

"Stop staring, I'm sure you want to get your hands on me, so do it." A hot flush burns at his ears, he throws a glare over his shoulder. It's enough to get Johnny to shut up, the lid of the bottle clicking open.

It's not for another few seconds until Johnny does get his hands on him, one caressing a cheek while his other smears lube across his entrance, slicking his rim up. He's careful with working Mark open, the first finger is enough to have the breath in Mark's throat catch around a moan. He pumps the finger in and out of him until Mark is stretched enough to take another finger.

Just as Johnny pushes the second finger in, he smooths his other hand down his back as it stretches him open. Mark has to grasp at the covers as he's spread open, every curl and spread of Johnny's fingers drawing a filthy moan out of him. His cries get muffled into the sheets, as he grinds his hips back onto Johnny's hand.

"More," he pleads. His cock is so red and swollen, dripping at the tip with every press of Johnny's fingertips against his prostate.

Johnny rubs against those nerves before withdrawing to work a third finger in. He pushes in shallowly, withdrawing, then pushing in a little deeper each time until Mark's hole is stretched and twitching around the base of his fingers.

"I— oh _god_. Fuck me, fuck me please," Mark gasps, hand slowly pumping himself for relief.

Mark expects a little more teasing, but he doesn't get it. Johnny makes quick work with getting the condom on, thick cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs. If he wasn't so desperate, he would ask Johnny if he could suck him off.

"Wait," Mark interrupts, turning around. He takes Johnny's wrist with one hand pulling it towards the bed, while his other hand grabs a hold of his shoulder pushing him until he's lying down. Their positions now flipped.

"Lemme on top, I wanna ride you."

Johnny is looking up at him like he's just seen god in person. He curses under his breath, head dropping onto the pillow, sighing "Jesus Christ, you're going to be the death of me."

Mark giggles, taking the lube and getting Johnny's cock slicked up and wet. He clicks the bottle shut, dropping it onto the bed to straddle Johnny's hips. With a hand around the base of Johnny's cock, he lines himself up, grinding against him with the cleft of his ass.

With a held breath, Mark sinks down until the entire tip breaches him. He already feels like he's being stretched wider than Johnny's fingers had done. He shudders, thighs quivering with how extraneous it is to hold this position. No amount of squats or wall sits at the gym could prepare him for this.

When he looks down, Johnny's eyebrows are furrowed and he's biting down on his bottom lip with so much concentration, Mark thinks it's kind of really fucking hot. It urges him to move things forward, so he sinks down slowly, inch by inch until he's seated flush on Johnny's lap. He feels sweat rolling down his temples with how strained and hot everything feels, it's been way too long since he's been filled like this, and never has he felt this full or stretched before.

"Fuck, this is a lot, baby," Johnny moans, restrained. It's as if he's holding everything back not to fuck Mark silly right now, and to be honest, Mark wouldn't mind it. But he wants to take his time to pull Johnny apart. He wants to be the one in control, he wants to be the one responsible for making Johnny lose his mind.

Johnny has his hands on his hips, holding him steady so Mark doesn't topple off as he sets a slow, shallow pace with his hands braced on Johnny's chest for balance. His pace quickens when he gets used to the stretch, when he starts becoming a little desperate for more.

"Hyung, oh— I," Mark moans, he removes his hands from Johnny's chest, in favour of taking both of Johnny's hands into his to lace their fingers together. "Feels good, so good."

The thing about riding someone is that it's hard on the legs, and he's starting to feel his muscles burn just when it's starting to feel good. He tries his best to keep his pace, rising slow and dropping down hard, bouncing in Johnny's lap through the exhaustion of his thighs.

"You're doing so good, baby, riding me so well," Johnny rolls his hips up as Mark's rhythm begins to falter.

"'S good, _fuck_ , hyung I can't," he cries, legs shaking with the strain. Johnny seems to pick up on this, he lets go of Mark's hands, winding his arms around his waist and pulls the younger down until their chests are flushed.

Johnny gets his feet planted firmly onto the mattress, fucking up into Mark with a pace so much faster than the one Mark was able to set on his own. Mark sobs, face pressed into the same pillow Johnny's head is resting on. He turns his head, cheek against the pillow so he can expel every moan right into Johnny's ear every time Johnny's cock sends a burst of pleasure as it brushes against his prostate. Every nerve is set alight, burning fast and hot, and he so, so close.

"You feel so good. Rode me so well, lemme give you what you want, m'kay?"

If Mark's body wasn't on fire already, it is now, pleasure buzzing against his skin as Johnny pounds into him. The slap of skin on skin is loud, resounding and Mark would be embarrassed if his neighbours heard. Except he doesn't care because it feels so fucking good.

"Ah— oh, oh god," he babbles, voice pitching higher as he pleads, "don't stop, don't stop."

His cock is caught between their stomachs. He reaches down to jerk himself off the best he can from the awkwardness of the angle, and it doesn't take much to make him come. Hot spurts of come smear across both their chests, his hole flutters around Johnny's length which has yet to relent as he fucks him through his orgasm.

Johnny moans, deep and guttural as Mark squeezes around him like a vice. With shaky arms, Mark pushes himself up, rolling his hips down onto Johnny's cock until the other man comes too while he grinds into him.

"Holy fuck," Johnny breathes, grip still tight around Mark's waist as he blinks up at him in a daze.

"Yeah," Mark numbly agrees. He's still seated on Johnny's lap as he tries to collect his thoughts.

After a moment, he extracts himself from Johnny to reach for the packet of wet wipes he keeps in one of his drawers and cleans them both off. Johnny gets the condom tied up, and takes the dirtied tissues from Mark to discard them in the small trash bin in the corner of the room.

Johnny slides into bed next to Mark just as exhaustion starts running bone deep, it's not even noon yet. Maybe it's the afterglow, or the sunlight, or just Johnny, but he's ever so gorgeous right now.

"What?" Johnny asks, facing him.

"I love you," Mark can't help the smile spreading across his face. It's almost dumb how he feels, reduced into a pile of cuddly affection after sex.

"I love you too," Johnny responds. He curls his hand around Mark's nape pulling him in for another kiss, tender and sweet, and just right.

"Do you remember a few months ago," Mark starts, "when you asked me if I ever considered going back to Vancouver?"

"Yeah," Johnny tilts his head, worried, "you're not leaving are you?"

"Oh god no. I just… I don't really see Vancity as home, y'know. Like I grew up there, I love the city, but it doesn't feel right to say that. It's been years and it's a different place," he admits, "neither did I see Seoul as home either. Everything felt so temporary until now," Mark says, eyes shining, "Now I feel like I'm home."

Johnny's mouth falls open, rendered speechless by Mark's confession. Sarcastically, Johnny responds, "I mean, you do technically live here."

"Let me have my moment," Mark scowls.

"You didn't let me have mine!" Johnny falls into a fit of laughter, and Mark laughs too, just because Johnny is contagious, and always so magnetic.

"I'm serious, I've never quite felt permanence ever in my life, and I think this — _us_ — could be the most permanent thing I've ever had. I know it's wishful thinking, and maybe I'm jumping ahead of myself, but god do I love you."

"I love you too, I love you so much," Johnny regards him fondly, fingers brushing through Mark's hair. "I kinda feel a similar way, things never felt set in stone, and this we have here, it already feels so certain. I'll give you all the moments you want."

Outside, it's no longer raining. The city moves forward, and Mark thinks he has too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the first set of lyrics are also from [Waiting Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCT_lgJ5eq8). While the second set of lyrics is from [Under The Table](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YP17cltPvaE) (in this fic it's called "Home" and the first line has been altered). The title track and album title is borrowed from [Warm Water](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYG3iIcZOkw).
> 
> I have more author's notes on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/johnmarkten/status/1258720658147565568)
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> [writing twitter](https://twitter.com/johnmarkten) | [main twitter](https://twitter.com/agustbwi) | [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/everbloom)


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